


Blood Hands

by Bre



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bratva, Canon Rewrite, Canonical Alternate Universe, Dark, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Protective Oliver, Slow Build, Slow Burn, bratva!Oliver
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 94,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bre/pseuds/Bre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When new Bratva business comes to Starling City, it brings Oliver’s past with the brotherhood into sharp, ugly focus. But when it strikes too close to home, endangering the one person he never wanted that darkness to touch, he finds out his and Felicity’s pasts are more tangled than he could have ever imagined. (Set between 2x06 and 2x07)</p>
<p>
  <b>Author's Note: I am currently in the process of refurbishing this story and finishing it up. Please refer to <a href="http://dust2dust34.tumblr.com/post/152568677514/blood-hands-a-tale-of-refurbishment">this Tumblr post</a> regarding the future of this fic. Thank you!</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So close no matter how far, couldn’t be much more from the heart… (114 hours before the gala…)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything related to Arrow.  
> Rating: M (for violence, language, sexual situations, graphic descriptions of human trafficking and other mob business)  
> Timeline: Set between 2.06 “Keep Your Enemies Closer” and 02.07 “State vs. Queen”
> 
> Title from Royal Blood’s “Blood Hands” and chapter titles from songs off Metallica’s Black album.
> 
> I extended a heavy degree of darkness into Oliver’s past – he did have to go through hell to be on the path he is on today. Along those lines, I’m woefully uneducated on the ways of Russia and the Bratva, or anything criminal or mob-related. There’s a lot of interesting and conflicting information out there, so I really let my imagination fly with this. Any inaccuracies or misinformation are all mine.
> 
> Dedication: To Cat (FalconCraneLove) for being so amazing and listening to me babble endlessly about this fic - I’ve known her for years and trust her insight and judgment way more than my own; and to my Mara (Foreverdaylight) for yelling at me when I wasn’t writing and all her fantastic insight, beautiful comments and immense help with the Russian translations (especially considering the wacky shit I was asking to be translated - she was so patient with me).
> 
> The first chapter is a bit longer than the rest will be, to set up the story. All mistakes are mine.

The repetitious sound of fists and arms colliding with the training dummy beat out a rhythm in time with his harsh gasps for air, the only sound in the foundry for hours.

_“I… sort of have an idea.”_

_“I can’t think of a time you didn’t sort of have an idea, Felicity.”_

_“Okay, I’m taking that as a compliment.”_

_“You should.”_

_“Well, good… and my ideas usually work, right?”_

_“… You only ask me that when you know I won’t like your idea.”_

_“And that’s why it’s important to remember that my ideas, while sometimes not awesome ideas, they work. Usually.”_

_“Felicity…”_

_“Okay. I found a new job. For you. I only found it because a new faceless, nameless business has recently swooped in and bought up some land in the Glades. Not a terrible thing normally because Starling City could definitely use that help right now, but it was too soon at the same time, which is exactly why I put a flag on stuff like this because that’s kind of sketchy. I mean, the Glades are primed for terrible criminal activity anyway, we shouldn’t hang a sign on the door that says, ‘Please take advantage of us,’ right?”_

_“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Felicity.”_

_“Right. Well, I’ve been tracking down suspicious sales like that since before you got back, and so far they’ve all panned out, but this one, these… they panned out, yes, but they’re linked to the Russian mob…_

_“Nothing? That’s all you’ve got for me? The Russian mob bought a bunch of buildings and you look like I just told you the sky is blue…_

_“Alright, I’ll keep going. I looked into them, and they call themselves the Bratva. I traced similar deals they’ve been involved in, where they ‘set up shop’ - which is a pretty accurate way to describe what they’re doing, in a really creepy and skeevy way - and they’ve done this… a lot. Nightclubs, Gentlemen’s Clubs, restaurants, shoe stores, you name it, in clusters, and they’ve all - all of them - have been linked to human trafficking, and… and why are you looking at me like that?”_

He moved from one dummy to another. He picked up his escrima sticks, going through the deadly ballet, hitting and parrying an invisible foe until he spun, slamming both of them into a dummy, making the bamboo wood shatter.

He did the salmon ladder until his lungs burned and his arms felt like they were going to slip from their sockets, and then he did one more set before dropping from the top, landing in an unsteady roll, stumbling when his foot caught on the edge of a mat.

But he didn’t stop.

_“I don’t want you looking into this.”_

_“What? Why?”_

_“Because I don’t want you to.”_

_“Okay, growly guy, but this is exactly the kind of thing we were looking for. Human trafficking, in Starling City? That’s sort of high on the list of stuff we should be stopping.”_

_“Felicity.”_

_“And they haven’t exactly been careful about hiding their tracks, I followed a few leads, because you can’t start a business without creating a trail, and a lot of it is centered around a charity gala that is this Saturday.”_

_“… And what exactly is your plan?”_

_“Me. Going to the gala.”_

His body screamed with exhaustion and his muscles felt like they were holding on by a thread, but he didn’t stop. No matter how hard he tried to beat it out of his head, to focus on something else, his mind was stuck on the grotesque merry-go-round the day had turned into.

How things had gone from pretty bad to pretty shitty bad in the space of six milliseconds was beyond him.

_“Absolutely not.”_

_“Okay, let’s hit the pause button and then rewind. You’ve been really grouchy these last few days, ever since Russia, and maybe it’s because I just mentioned Russia and their terrifying Mafia, I don’t know, but I don’t see why-”_

_“This has nothing to do with Russia.”_

_“I’d believe you if you didn’t just take off my head while saying that.”_

It’d be a cold day in hell when he’d admit it to her, but she wasn’t entirely wrong, although it wasn’t just Russia that was trying to crawl its way under his skin and eat him alive from the inside out. It was certainly part of it, but not just that.

If the only thing bothering him had just been their few days in Russia, he would be fine right now.

_“What happens in Russia stays in Russia.”_

He _wished_ it was just what had happened over the last week that was gnawing at him. 

His mind hopped to being back in Russia…

Visiting old haunts from his Bratva days he’d hoped he’d never seen again; seeing Anatoly; getting Digg arrested; threatening that man’s family for the truck; Isabel’s smooth Russian lilt making an appearance; speaking Russian with someone who didn’t have an ulterior motive behind it like all his conversations with Alexi; how easy it had been to bring Isabel back to his room, consequences be damned; hearing her shocked amusement as she accused him of calling her the wrong name; Felicity’s face when she saw Isabel leave; her quiet and resonating disappointment at the gulag; Isabel’s knowing smiles and glances on the plane all the way back home…

And right back to Starling City, to the awkward-morning-after feel that lingered with Isabel, to Felicity’s soft words about it.

He didn’t deserve better, and that Felicity still thought that for him, thought he deserved anything at all past the hell he relegated himself to made it all more vividly painful: he was a piece of shit.

He didn’t deserve better. He deserved the cold, emotionless sex he had had with Isabel, and he had been alright with that, been fine with his entirely justified explanation because it was true.

_“Because of the life that I lead, I just think that it’s better to not be with someone that I could really care about.”_

Until Felicity had said, _“Well, I think you deserve better than her.”_

Oliver grunted, hitting the dummy harder.

He really, really didn’t.

And she shouldn’t think that for him because she was better than all the broken pieces of himself he still managed to retain, and he didn’t like the idea of that _tainting_ her somehow, that she was somehow lowering herself to his level to see the pieces. That the shattered shell he managed to keep together most of the time was starting to rub off on her ate at him like acid.

Oliver moved quicker, his arms moving in a blur. His hits resonated in his bones, shaking his core. He knew he needed to get water and take a breath before he pulled or damaged something, but he couldn’t.

Instead of wearing him out, the exertion seemed to be fueling the self-masochistic anger running rampant through his body. Every hit shoved more adrenaline through his heart, which pumped his blood quicker, spreading the need to _‘hit more, hit harder, hit faster’_ through his veins like wildfire.

He had been fine when they’d gotten back from Russia, really, he had been. Isabel kept her mouth shut even though Oliver honestly didn’t remember saying anything to garner the reaction it had, and Felicity had put away the disappointed look, no longer staring at him with questions and the damn hurt she thought she kept so well hidden.

He _had_ been fine until Felicity had mentioned the new property being bought, by none other than the Russian mob, and their supposed intent to turn them into clubs - one a nightclub, the other two gentlemen’s clubs on either side of the Glades. That had been news enough until she’d mentioned the gala, the potentially very mob-funded and mob-heavy gala, and the ludicrous suggestion of putting herself right in the fucking middle of it.

_“Since when have we shied away from something like this? This is what you do, what we do.”_

_“No, Felicity, I do not make it a habit of putting innocent women in harm’s way.”_

_“You’ll be right there with me the entire time! I know what I’m suggesting, but it’s not like I’m jumping into a lion’s den wearing only a meat suit-”_

_“That is exactly what you’re doing!”_

_“-without a contingency plan!”_

_“Damn it, Felicity! You don’t… you don’t know what it will be like in there, you don’t know how dangerous these men are, you have no idea what they’re capable of!”_

_“Oh, but you do?... Is this another secret island thing that you can’t tell us about?”_

He hit harder, but he no longer saw the dummy, or the quiet, cold foundry.

He saw a gray-washed street, oppressive clouds hinting at more snow, the air so cold it hurt to breathe and the warehouse looming up before him, so far away along the icy docks in Kaliningrad…

Oliver didn’t like to think about his time with the Bratva. He didn’t like thinking back on any part of the five years he was away from Starling City, but there was a certain edge of darkness he had stepped into during his time in the Russian mob that had left him… broken.

The island had started the process, and it had continued to whittle him down in Hong Kong, but it had reached its pinnacle during his time as a Brigadier.

When Oliver left Russia the last time, he had promised himself he’d never come back. It was an amusing catastrophe of a thought since he’d not hesitated a second when Diggle had mentioned where Lyla had been sent, but that had been for Diggle. And he had been going there for a good reason this time, nothing… _sinister_.

When he’d told Diggle and Felicity that nothing good had happened the entire five years he was gone, it hadn’t been an exaggeration.

There was nothing good about anything he had done.

When he’d first found Anatoly again, it had been about survival.

After the final blowout with Amanda and her bullshit in Hong Kong, Russia had felt like a sanctuary in comparison, even when Oliver had taken to living on the streets, stealing food and clothes when he could and finding out he was really bad at it. His arm had been fractured from a fight and a vessel in his eye had popped from a punch by a rather large vendor. He’d had a festering infection on his chest from someone tossing a lit match on him and another homeless man to get them off his block.

If not for Anatoly, Oliver would have died. He had been a godsend - an old friend, someone Oliver had trusted and who hadn’t let him down on the island, someone who was offering him help… but it had turned into the complete opposite.

Anatoly had only _suggested_ a role for him in the organization, something to get him some money to put away so he could go back home, back to his world, and for a while that had been all Oliver could think about. He didn’t need much, he could catch cargo ships most of the way, barter his way back home if he had to…

It would have been so easy to go home.

But he didn’t.

It hadn’t been Anatoly that made the decision for him to join, but Oliver, and he had jumped in with both eyes closed.

_“Is this another secret island thing that you can’t tell us about? Because I have to say I’m getting pretty sick of only hearing about the pertinent information when you deem it necessary.”_

_“Felicity…”_

_“Hey, guys, why don’t we take a little breather?”_

_“No, John, this is too big to put on the backburner. Why isn’t this something we’re checking out? People could get hurt, Oliver.”_

_“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to check it out, but I will do it. Alone.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because you could get hurt!”_

_“I could get hurt every day. And I’m still here.”_

_“No… absolutely not.”_

_“I don’t understand-”_

_“This isn’t a negotiation, Felicity, drop it!”_

Oliver’s arms were numb, but he kept hitting, sweat flying off him with each harsh movement, unable to get his mind out of the past.

He thought about that warehouse, the chipping green paint in faded Russian on the side, the way the cold had slid underneath his jacket, tiny spikes of ice dancing along his bare skin as he opened the door. The shipping containers were supposed to be in there, ready to be switched and head out on the MV Zeya back to the U.S. Everything was supposed to have worked, but one thing the Bratva had taught him was that loyalty was to be held above everything else, and the deaths of twenty-three girls was the price paid for that lesson…

The pit of shame that lived in his chest whenever Oliver thought back on those years with the Bratva always felt like it was drowning him. He had been so blind; so stupid and naïve. The darkness that had grown in him from the island and his time with Waller had primed him for the world he’d inhabited in Russia during those nineteen months; he’d lost all sense of morality for a very long time, throwing himself down the slippery slope that eventually landed him in a hell of his own making.

It was something he never let himself think about. What he had done and the decisions he had made ultimately led to him going back to the island, to the path he was on now, to becoming a savior for Starling City - to not only right the wrongs of his father, however misguided they might have been, but to right his own sins as well.

Redemption was a sour pill to swallow, one he forced himself to choke down.

But only _he_ was supposed to relive those moments.

Nobody around him. 

_“My life, my choice, remember? I’m our best shot of getting into the gala since Oliver Queen and the Arrow can’t exactly be in two places at the same time. If it’s going to save someone-”_

_“No!... I said no. You will not be going into a mob-funded gala for any reason. Ever.”_

_“Oh, but I can go into a scary underground mob-funded casino just fine, but not this?”_

_“That was different.”_

_“Oliver-”_

_“Not. Going. To. Happen, Felicity. Drop it!”_

Oliver let out a rough intelligible growl and shoved his elbow into the center of the dummy, snapping it in half with a loud screech. Splintered wood scattered across the floor, a thick puff of dust puffing out as the heavy top fell to the ground.

His lungs felt like they were rapidly filling with acid as he tried to right his breathing, leaning over, fighting the urge to collapse. He stared at the broken training dummy, blinking dust from his eyes.

Oliver remembered very specifically how loud he had yelled that last part.

His voice had echoed through the foundry, making her flinch. He had stared at her for a split second, their eyes meeting, both refusing to back down.

The mere thought of Felicity in anything related to the world he’d lived terrified him to the very center of his being. It morphed into a frightful panic that built under his chest plate like a pressure bomb, sending shockwaves through his system with each passing second.

The fire in her blue eyes he normally appreciated and admired so much, especially when it was directed at him, only pissed him off because he knew she wasn’t going to let it go.

_“Oliver…”_

He’d turned away, his fingers raw from rubbing his thumb against his index finger, from fighting the urge to reach out and shake her until she _understood._

He never yelled at her, ever. But the thought of her anywhere near something like this had made him see red.

A few minutes after that he’d heard the slap of her grabbing her purse from the table and the clatter of her shoes as she left for the night.

Diggle had tried to talk to him, but he’d been done the minute the words ‘Russian mob’ had left Felicity’s lips. After several attempts and Oliver nearly taking his head off too, he’d backed down, finally leaving Oliver to stew in a pit of frustration.

The anger was… surprising. It lashed through him with enough force to take his breath away. It was anger at himself, who he had been and for not being more involved to prevent this, at the Bratva for just being, at Felicity for finding the information, that she wanted to involve herself in any way, shape or form…

The fervor that roared in his ears at the thought of her anywhere _near_ those types of men burned hot. Too hot.

He had already failed this city once, he had already lost one of the most important people in his life as a result, he couldn’t lose another one. He couldn’t lose her. And something in the pit of his chest was telling him that was exactly what would happen if she did get involved.

Oliver stood slowly, eyes still on the broken dummy. His hands scrubbed the back of his neck, skin slick with sweat and hot from the exertion. He was hungry, but he knew if he tried to eat his body would throw it right back up. He needed some water and a hot shower and a bed and then…

And then he would think about food.

About a plan.

About how big of a dick he had been that night.

He just needed to make Felicity see how dangerous this was.

Oliver groaned at the thought of going another round with her. It was one of the things he loved most about her, how stubborn and on-point she could be, but he really needed her to just not be that this time.

He grabbed his phone, thumbing it on. Thea had called again but nobody else. He frowned. Two in the morning or not, Alexi should have returned his call by now.

That was the first step, getting information. The most practical way to handle it was to approach it as a business venture, which would get Oliver the information he needed as well as who was at the helm of the operation. It was practical and logical and a sure thing. He just needed to get the fucker to call him back.

Leaving the dummy for later, Oliver headed towards the corner bathroom Felicity had had installed while he had been on the island - as she had said, “You were coming back, and you needed a shower in here because sometimes… ew.”

Just remembering the face she had made when she said that made him smile… it melted away when he thought about what would happen to her if she went within fifty feet of the Russian mobsters.

He grabbed a ratty pair of sweatpants for after his shower before going through his ablutions quickly, ignoring his strained muscles, the aches in joints and the sting of the small cuts on his swollen knuckles where the training tape had worn through.

Felicity had no idea he was involved with the Bratva. It hadn’t come up, she hadn’t asked him and he hadn’t supplied an explanation in Russia.

She didn’t know what she was suggesting.

He thought back to the last time he’d gone to see Alexi, the favor Alexi had asked of him. His mood darkened. He didn’t want to waste any damn time on whatever shady shit the man would come up with in exchange for the gala information.

Oliver knew it was a foolish thing to think. He knew how the brotherhood worked. He’d have to pick his battles a little carefully here. If it was as simple as killing again, he wasn’t so sure he could pull the same trick this time around. That had been pure luck Alexi hadn’t handed him a gun to do the job properly last time. If that were the case, he’d have to persuade Alexi towards something more obtainable so he could get the information about the clubs, about the gala, and hopefully it would end there, without Felicity going anywhere near the Bratva because the Arrow would step in and end everything before it even started.

Because anything besides that…

His stomach roiled as a quick flash of a woman who looked too much like Felicity hit him, of her shoved into a tiny box, clothes torn, lip bruised and bloody from when they’d nabbed her, her nails and fingers jagged from fighting back, makeup smudged from tears as they drilled holes in the top of the box for breathing and then shoved it and dozens just like it onto a cargo ship…

Oliver gritted his teeth as he dried off quickly, tugging on his sweats, feeling dirtier than when he had gone in as he thought about all the boxes with tiny breathing holes he had handled, all the girls he had worked with and what had happened to them.

The foundry was colder than usual, the air outside starting to dip as winter approached. His skin was still hot from the shower and goose bumps erupted across his naked chest and back as he padded barefoot towards the cot he kept in the far corner of the large room. His phone - still no missed calls - was clenched in his fist and he dropped it on a nearby heater before letting himself fall onto the cheap metal bed.

It was very simple - utilitarian and easy, with a threadbare blanket and a thin pillow - and it felt amazing. 

Oliver groaned, his muscles starting to relax without a nudge from his mind. The cot accepted the bulk of his weight, sinking further down and taking him with it.

He was tired.

He was always tired.

He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had slept through an entire night. The only times he’d gotten a solid ounce of sleep was when someone knocked him out, or drugged him, and he always woke up with a nasty hangover as a thank you gift. He barely let himself sleep when he was alone, much less when he was with anyone unless he wanted to terrify the hell out of them - or worse, hurt them. He couldn’t keep his eyes shut for more than an hour even when he was somewhere he felt safe enough to do so.

But now, the rough exercise in conjunction with the hot shower was quickly catching up with him. For the first time since Felicity had suggested her certifiable idea, it all felt fuzzy and faraway. Something to be dealt with later.

Oliver stared at the ceiling, at the dull glow coming from Felicity’s computers where they ran their searches or diagnostics or whatever the hell they did 24/7.

He watched thin plumes of steam sneak through the rafters before letting his eyes close.

He absently wondered what he would get to see tonight in his nightmares - they ranged from his first days on the island, to the body count he’d collected in Hong Kong, to the blood splatter on his hands in Russia - when he heard it.

The soft shuffle of soft-soled shoes at the entrance of the foundry.

Oliver’s eyes snapped open, instantly alert, and he arched his head up off the cot, cocked to hear more, his body preternaturally still, waiting for the danger to present itself so he knew where to go when he heard it again.

He was up in the blink of an eye; he didn’t feel the cold ground or the chilled air. He paused, waiting for another sound outside the coarse sound of calloused fingers rubbing together, his hand itching to grab his bow, to act, when he finally heard the distinct ding of a keypad coming to life and then a code being entered.

The pressure melted from his body as the loud metallic clang of the door that entered from the alleyway popped open and the very source of his agitation for the last several hours stepped through.

And just like that the annoyance and frustration he had fought so hard to beat out the last several hours surged to the surface again.

How could someone so tiny and harmless make him feel simultaneously murderously calm while wanting to throw every damn thing around him at a wall?

Oliver didn’t move.

Felicity walked on the balls of her feet, barely breathing, like she was sneaking in. Oliver frowned, wondering what she was up to, when she finally let out a heavy cautious breath before relaxing, jogging down the steps quickly, the metal stairs aching and groaning.

“You will not win,” she said as she made her way to the computers.

Oliver silently made his way back towards the center of the room.

She left the main generator off, switching on the lamps that lit up the back of her computers, lighting her face in a florescent glow.

He felt something tug in his gut at the sight of her moving around so easily and naturally. Every once in a while he found himself stopping and just watching her, the way she moved, the way her face displayed every thought racing through her mind, how she bit her lip instead of her nails, how she touched her right earring when she was staring at the farthest left monitor display and her left earring when it was the right monitor.

He had known since their first meeting that she could read him like an open book, much to his chagrin, but he could do the same with her. It was why whatever dynamic they had worked so seamlessly. Oliver felt better having her here, and it wasn’t just the dangerous plan she had presented to him earlier. The foundry used to be just a base, a place to come to escape the real world, a place where he could be himself, and it was still that, but now it was so much more.

Because of Diggle. Because of her.

It was… home. As much of a home as it could be.

Oliver hadn’t realized how much tension he’d been hammering out all night had been because she wasn’t there. Just being near her, watching her in her element, in the place that was as much hers as it was his, made him feel better. Warmer.

He didn’t let himself pause to examine that particular feeling, it always happened around her… she was just Felicity.

He shoved the feeling away.

He was still upset with her.

Just what was she doing in the foundry at two on a Tuesday morning?

“Alright. Let’s see how you guys are doing first.”

He inclined his head further to get a better view around the mess of industrial obstacles in his way, watching her lean over her keyboards. A few keystrokes later and all three screens shifted, and she scanned the information. She furrowed her brow, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, something she only did when she had high expectations and was getting frustrated because it was taking too long.

Oliver really, really hoped she wasn’t doing what he thought she was.

Because then he really might have to kill her.

Or lock her up in a box. With no Wi-Fi and the sour sesame chicken from the Chinese shop down the block she didn’t like.

Felicity mumbled to herself, flicking through more screens.

She had scrubbed the makeup off her face and pulled her hair on top of her head in a messy, lopsided bun. The tastefully cut peach dress she had worn that day - which he specifically did notice had a very appropriate skirt length - and out of the black strappy heels - that he had specifically not noticed were an inch or two higher than her normal fare that made her legs seem longer than usual - were gone and replaced with stretchy yoga pants and a small cut-up MIT sweatshirt.

He had never seen her so dressed-down or casual, she was always so put-together and mind-bogglingly color coordinated.

He felt like he was intruding. Which was a stupid thought really since she was in _his_ foundry.

She absently shrugged out of her jacket, draping it over her chair. She leaned over the table again, baring a healthy strip of her midriff.

Something tripped in his chest at the sight. Oliver felt like he should look away - this was _Felicity_ \- but he didn’t. 

And his mouth went dry when the shirt drifted higher as she moved between all three keyboards.

Oliver couldn’t fathom how many naked women he had seen in his short lifetime. He’d seen more than enough to be able to see one’s bare skin and _not_ react to it. It most definitely had to be the physical hell he had just put himself through in combination with the exhaustion that he always carried as well as being unable to stop thinking about anything besides what had happened in Russia and what looked to be happening in Starling City, and the thought of anything like that coming _near_ her, but…

It was just skin.

Normal skin, everyone had skin, he had no reason to react to it.

Skin that she was baring for anyone to see.

Skin that nobody should see. 

A wicked wave of possession stomped through his chest, his mind whipping back to their earlier conversation, to what she might have to wear if he was even close to agreeing to let her go through with the moronic plan to attend that gala she had tried to push on him.

That other men - bad men - might see her in something skimpy, degrading and ugly, might see that skin…

He didn’t like it.

And now, seeing her in something meant only for home, meant for a place of comfort and security, it made it all feel so much more…

Intimate.

Oliver’s eyes followed her - with her sweatshirt tugged up enough to see the soft curve of her spine when she leaned one way, her pants slithering up her hips in a surprisingly seductive way - and he felt his stomach hollow out. He watched her lean further over to check the farthest screen, her bottom lip between her teeth, and he caught the gentle slope of her stomach peeking out. He didn’t have a name for what suddenly made his fingers start to tingle as he wondered what that slope would feel like against the palm of his hand.

Nobody had the right to see these parts of her, especially the people who would be at that gala.

Felicity hummed under her breath, breaking his reverie, and Oliver slammed his eyes shut, groaning internally. He was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he was leaning around the corner like a peeping tom, leering at Felicity from a shady corner wearing nothing more than the simple sweats he wore to bed.

Bed.

She wore that to bed, that’s what she slept in.

And he was unbelievably shitty.

He had just spent the last several hours raging on his training equipment at the thought of men doing this very thing to her, of her volunteering for it, and here he was, lurking in the shadows like a monster, doing that _exact thing_.

This was Felicity, his friend, his partner, someone he trusted with his life more than he had any other human being, someone he should be protecting from the dangers of the world, not mentally wondering what he’d find if he slipped his hand down her pants.

Oliver made a face at himself as self-disgust warmed his chest… but that sure didn’t stop his traitorous mind from imagining what she would do if he stepped up behind her, pressed his chest to her back, wrapping his arms around her. He actually felt the curve of her stomach under his hand when he pressed it to her middle, pushing his fingers underneath the loose band of her pants and further down while he pressed his mouth…

Oliver bit his tongue, his index finger rubbing against his thumb for a very different reason, wanting to act on a very different instinct that was completely ludicrous. He had specifically gone out of his way to not think that way about her, because he had to work with her in such close quarters all the time. He had obviously noticed that Felicity was a beautiful woman. She was confidant and spoke her mind, something that made her beauty all the more endearing. But she was Felicity, and he knew that, which is why he never let his mind go past that.

Usually. 

Oliver clenched his jaw.

He should have gone home.

No, that wasn’t fair, she shouldn’t even be here in the middle of the night.

She should be at home.

Safe.

In bed.

Away from him right now. 

“Okay, nothing new, which is bad, but also good since I didn’t miss anything,” she murmured to the screen. “Although I could have done so much more from here, but no, no, someone had to blow about fifty gaskets for no reason whatsoever. Stupid giant freakishly muscled jerk.”

Oliver glowered at her.

“He is literally a walking romance novel cliché,” she continued, hitting the keyboard keys harder as she said, “He’s those… bulbous models on the covers. Walking around shirtless all the time and doing stupid things on that stupid salmon ladder, being a jerk, all broody and… moody. And now he’s making me rhyme.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. He didn’t like that she had the ability to send him swinging from rabid annoyance right into cute amusement.

“Stupid… mime. Or lime. Or… climb. Okay, time to stop, Felicity.”

How could he go from thinking about sliding his hands down her pants to glaring a hole in the back of her head to finding her so cute he wanted to tap her nose with his finger? Oliver closed his eyes. He wasn’t thinking straight - it was too late and he was too tired. That was the explanation.

“And that’s the last time I drink two anger cappuccinos before bed. Alright.” Felicity shut down the searches and turned a hard glare at her tablet. She pointed at it like it had just sassed her and Oliver bit off the chuckle building in his throat.

“Now either you have some serious explanations coming my way, Rodrigo, or…” She pointed at the servers. “Someone got a little too wire happy and missed something. Which I would never actually admit doing to anyone, but sometimes I do get too wire happy. Happy wires makes a happy Felicity. Except when I can’t connect to the servers. Which makes me sad. And mad. And not glad. Okay, and we’re shutting up now.”

Felicity grabbed her tablet and tugged her shirt back into place, her midriff disappearing - which he was not disappointed about, because that would be ridiculous - before she darted into the small maze of server boxes.

For fuck’s sake, what was he doing?

Oliver took a deep breath, looking down when he realized his hands were clenched in tight fists. He released them, shaking his head. He was strung out, that was it. He wasn’t thinking straight. The information about the clubs had just brought up old memories, and combine that with new people in his life, he was just… overreacting.

Wanting to wrap her up in a blanket and shove her back in her bed where he knew she would be safe was definitely overreacting. 

He should really just go back to his cot. She would likely leave after she fixed whatever she was there to fix and then they’d see each other in a few hours, after they’d both cooled off, and he would calmly explain why he was acting the way he was without going into explicit detail, and she would poke and prod, but she would eventually back off because she would do her uncanny understanding thing and see he wasn’t willing to discuss it, trusting him to do what was best.

Or, more likely scenario, she’d do exactly what she was doing right now, which was going behind his back to research something dangerous as hell.

Oliver grimaced when he felt his nails digging into his palms again. Now was definitely not the time to talk.

He should wait, make sure she got to her car okay.

Her car that was sitting outside, in a dark alley, in the middle of the Glades, at 2 a.m.

She might as well hang a bright pink neon sign around her neck that said, ‘Kidnap-Ready.’ 

Oliver was stepping out of his hiding spot before he could think twice.

He heard her mumbling to herself still, narrating her way through whatever wire hell she was in, and it didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. He heard a, “Well, well, well, there you are, my pretty,” and then the rustle of wires followed by something snapping into place.

Oliver clenched his jaw, annoyed with her for coming here in the middle of the night and with himself that he was suddenly feeling an odd note of pride that she had - he really should be upset that her courage was bigger than her eyes - and stood by her computers. He crossed his arms, waiting.

When she made her way back, her brow was furrowed as she whipped through several screens on her tablet. She made a frustrated noise, her hand moving in a blur. It finally pinged, causing a huge grin to cross her face.

“A-ha!” she said, throwing her fist in the air. “That’s how you - oh my god!”

Oliver wasn’t sure what happened first.

She yelped, one hand flying to cover her face, the other to cover her heart, her tablet still somewhere in the middle as she jumped back, but her arms seemed to forget what the other was doing because they suddenly switched trajectories, and she jammed her tablet up into her chin.

The sound of her teeth clacking together very loudly echoed in the open room and Oliver winced as the next sound she made was a pained keel. The tablet clattered to the ground, and all the quiet-voiced yelling he had planned was gone in the blink of an eye.

Oliver leapt forward, grabbing her arms before she fell over.

“Whoa, Felicity. Hey.” She looked up at him, dazed but aware and he let her go. “Are you okay?” She opened her mouth, but then she started to tilt and Oliver snatched her waist to steady her. “Whoa, easy. I thought you saw me.”

“Oh, let’s not worry about that. I saw you alright,” Felicity replied, voice breathy. He was close enough that he felt her breath on his chest, and Oliver couldn’t stop his hands from gripping her waist tighter, or the way his heart fluttered when her hands landed on his chest to steady herself.

He gritted his teeth. This was Felicity.

Why did he have to keep reminding himself of that?

She slowly came back, blinking up at him through her glasses, and then her eyes narrowed.

He immediately dropped his hands from her waist, his fingers burning where they had touched her bare skin.

“What the heck were you doing, Oliver? Lurking and creeping around like that! You scared the…” Felicity paused and then she winced, opening her mouth experimentally before touching her chin. “Ow.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” She glared at him some more, and he had the decency to look sheepish. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” she said, wincing. “Just fine. I just rammed myself in the face with a chunk of tablet, but I’m fine.”

Oliver was reaching for her before he could think about it. “Here, let me look.”

Felicity didn’t hesitate, moving right into his grasp, making his heart skip a beat. Oliver ignored it, and the way his palms suddenly felt itchy.

They had been doing that lately. And he didn’t like it.

Oliver held her lightly, tilting her head back, and she grabbed his forearms, leaning back with him.

There was an angry red mark where her tablet had hit.

“It doesn’t look too bad. Are you okay?”

She made an imperceptible noise, her eyes closed, and he couldn’t help the smile, watching her. Her skin was soft, warm, and when his thumb brushed over her cheek of its own volition, he couldn’t ignore the way her fingers tightened on his arms in response.

“Did you bite your tongue?” he asked, the smile evident in his voice.

“Mm… now that’s something I never thought I’d get to hear you ask me,” she replied and then she jerked when she realized what she’d said. Her eyes snapped open. “I said that like I was disappointed, but I’m not. Because I don’t think about you and biting, or any biting really. Not that you’re not bitable, you definitely are… or you would be if I thought about that, or noticed at all really, because I definitely do not notice anything being… bitable…”

Oliver’s breathy chuckle cut her off. She blushed, and he felt her skin warm under his hands. He watched it spread rapidly down her neck and across her chest, disappearing underneath her shirt.

Which he was definitely not noticing.

Felicity swallowed audibly, her eyes flickering shut, and took a deep breath. He could practically hear her, _“Three… two… one…”_

“No,” she replied slowly. “I did not bite my tongue. Obviously. My jaw just entered Tooth Thunderdome and came out the loser, but they still feel very attached so I think I’m okay.” She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and winced. She angled her head back, her voice growing huskier as a result. “Is there a bruise?”

Husky was not how he would describe Felicity’s voice. Mostly because it made him think about a bedroom voice. And this was Felicity.

Oliver swallowed to get rid of his dry mouth, reminding himself this was Felicity - Felicity, his very platonic friend Felicity.

He was sure if he kept repeating it, his 2 a.m. mind limbo would get the message.

He ran his thumb over the red mark.

When her throat flexed in reaction to his touch, all precautionary thoughts flew right out the window. He was suddenly very aware of how chilly the foundry was, and how warm she was. He felt it radiating through her thin clothes, her blushing making it worse.

His thumb brushed over the spot again, and her breath hitched, and he stared when her tongue dart out to lick her lips.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen her without lipstick before. Her lips were bare, exposed without their color barrier.

Now that was an odd thought.

“No bruise,” Oliver said. He tilted her head back down, telling himself to step back and put space between them, but he didn’t move. “Just a little tender.”

“Good,” she replied. And then she looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes.

Oliver’s chest tightened painfully. She managed to look both vulnerable and gorgeous as hell, and his mind flashed to what she had said earlier, to wanting to put herself in a position where she would have to do this for men, bad men, to save others.

Instead of the rush of anger, he wanted to pull her closer, to protect her.

_Anyone but her._

“Felicity…”

He felt the hitch in her breathing when he said her name, her chest rising and falling to match his own. Her fingers dug into his arms as she stared up at him, and he could feel her rapid heartbeat thrumming through her as she stared at him under hooded lids.

His eyes darted to her lips.

If Oliver wanted to blame anyone for his reaction, he was going to choose Isabel Rochev.

He hadn’t been able to stop wondering what name had slipped from his lips when she’d jerked back like he was covered in liquid fire and proceeded to look at him like he had just confirmed everything she’d ever thought about him.

And about Felicity.

He had thought about it, gone over it and over it and there was no way he could have said _that_. He didn’t think of her that way. She was just a friend.

Just a friend, who at the thought of someone else touching her like this made him want to throw something.

Oliver’s hands shifted, his fingers sinking into her messy hair, making her breath hitch softly. Felicity blinked up at him, her eyes darkening as she shivered.

Fear, anger and exhaustion were a heady combination when it came to clarity: Oliver only knew one thing in that moment - she was here, she was alive, and he was going to do everything in his power to keep her that way.

“Oliver?”

Her tentative voice was like a bucket of ice cold water dumping over his head.

What the hell was he doing?

This was _Felicity_ , for fuck’s sake.

Oliver immediately released her. He cleared his throat, stepping back, grabbing her chair in a white-knuckled grip as Felicity blinked after him, her hands hovering in the air where she’d held his arms before letting them drop.

A moment of strained silence stretched between them, neither moving. Whatever that had just been…

Oliver interrupted the thought before it could finish.

“Uh, what are…” His voice came out far too roughly and he cleared his throat again, pushing her chair between them. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh,” Felicity started. She adjusted the small sweatshirt with nervous hands, and he noticed it either sat too far back or too far forward, giving anyone willing to look a pretty view of skin. So much skin.

He noticed her abdomen was pinker than it had been before and he wondered just how far her blushing went.

No, no, not going there. His eyes snapped back to her face, where she was watching him with wide eyes.

Oliver bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood.

“What are you doing here, Felicity?”

She jumped, opening her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Instead she averted her gaze and moved to pick up her tablet, pausing when she saw the mess he’d left.

“What did you do to Sid the Dummy?”

“It broke,” he said plainly. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing, I was doing nothing.” She shot him a falsely cheerful smile. “I was just checking on some… things, that I forgot to check on earlier, because someone ran me out of here like a bull in a china shop…” Oliver stared at her and for some reason it made her blush. “So, I think I’ll just… go… now.”

She moved to grab her jacket, which was on the chair he was currently hiding behind, and Oliver rolled it out of her reach. “Oliver-”

“Felicity,” he said slowly. “What are you doing here?” She moved to argue again but he stopped her. “The truth. Please.”

“I always tell you the truth,” she replied, crossing her arms around the tablet. “Especially when you don’t want to hear it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Felicity.”

“I might have been… monitoring some searches from home. That’s all,” she said and she waved her tablet. “And I didn’t realize the connection had died out until about an hour ago and I was awake anyway so I came in because I was pretty sure it was just a loose wire that was the culprit and hey, it was.”

Oliver’s frown deepened when she didn’t elaborate on _what_ she was searching.

She pursed her lips when he didn’t say anything.

“So I’ll just go. And I’ll see you when I wake up. I mean, not when I wake up, because you won’t be in bed with me to see when I wake up, but we will be together at work. Not together-together, because that’s ridiculous, but together in the professional space in which we occupy, as professionals. In a few hours.” She took a breath, waiting for a reaction and got nothing. “Okay. Bye.”

She grabbed her jacket and Oliver reached for it at the same time, stopping her.

“What searches?”

“Nothing.” He stared at her. “It’s nothing, I swear, nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. Or today, whatever, because… because John will want to know too! So later, I’ll explain them all later. Good, see you then.” She tugged on her jacket again, causing that damn sweatshirt to ride up even more. “Oliver, let go of my jacket.”

“You’re running searches on the clubs, aren’t you?”

“What? No. You specifically asked me not to, so I’m not doing that.”

“Felicity.”

“I’m not.” He stared at her and her eyes remained guileless. “I remember because you had your…” She made a face, using her free hand to make a claw in the air next to her face. “Growly face, and you said - no, you _yelled_ \- ‘Stop looking into the clubs.’”

“Yes, I remember. I was there.”

“Yes, and it was very simple, very understated, in a loud voice kind of way, but still.” Felicity tugged on her jacket. “Oliver.”

He just stared at her.

“Fine!” Her face crinkled and she stomped her foot. “Fine, no, I was not searching the clubs, because despite how much of a jerk you are…” Even through the angry haze starting to form over his eyes, Oliver had the decency to flinch and she caught it. “Yeah, you were a huge jerk, but I still listened because yes, you’re a jerk, but I also know you don’t say things without a good reason, and I know I can trust you because, well, I’ve always been able to, but…”

“But…”

“But you can’t just tell me to stop looking into something as serious as _human trafficking_ without a good reason!”

“Damn it, Felicity,” Oliver snapped, letting go of her jacket abruptly, making her stumble back. And just like that, any warmth from the past few minutes evaporated. “I told you to leave it alone.”

“And I told you I couldn’t do that.”

Oliver ground his teeth together. “Why can’t you just…” 

“Because I can’t.” She stepped towards him again and threw her jacket at the top of the chair. He had to step back to avoid it whipping into him as she turned back to her computers. “We still haven’t found much-”

“We?”

Felicity faltered, her tongue sneaking out to dance on her lip. “I meant the royal we?”

Oliver growled under his breath. Why couldn’t anyone just _listen_ to him? 

“Because when your head lives inside your ass, you have a tendency to not make much sense,” Felicity replied smartly, wisely choosing not to look at him as she pulled up the searches on her computer again. He glared at the side of her head, not realizing he’d spoken out loud. 

“Anyway, like I said, I, in my own independent searching and not necessarily as a representative of Team Arrow, have not found much outside the clubs.” Oliver rolled his eyes. “But I did find some information about suspicious shipments at the docks, suspicious enough to tip off the SCPD, but they didn’t pan out. It shouldn’t mean anything, but it got me thinking about dummy shipments, something to keep the police occupied, and so I hacked into the docks’ system - if you can even call it that…” 

“Felicity…”

“And I found another shipment, but it was empty.” Felicity turned, eyebrows raised. “Empty, Oliver. It was _empty_.” She paused, waiting for him to catch on but he kept his face stoic, preferring to continue glaring at her instead, and she huffed. “Fine, be a grumpy cat. Anyway, I kind of hit a dead end on the empty thing, but I also found _a lot_ of new employers looking for new applicants in Starling City. Employers who were not here a month ago. Employers looking for… very…” Felicity pursed her lips again, rocking on her heels before waving her hands over her body in emphasis. “Specific requirements.”

Oliver didn’t respond. He could only stare at her.

Did she have a death wish?

He didn’t realize he had grabbed her chair again or that he was currently squeezing the life out of it until her eyes darted down to his hands. He let go of it abruptly, stepping away from her.

“I really don’t get why you’re so upset. This is good, we’re getting information we can-”

“No, Felicity,” Oliver snapped, waving a hand to cut her off. “If I tell you to stop searching for something, you need to stop searching. It’s simple.”

“Oliver.”

“I said _no_.”

Oliver opened his mouth to continue, to tell her exactly why he said no, so she could at least pretend to understand the gravity of what she was looking into, but he snapped his jaw closed with a resounding thud.

No. The past was the past, and he would be damned if this one thing didn’t stay _in_ the past.

“I’m taking care of it. I said I was taking care of it and that you didn’t need to do anything else.” She looked ready to argue and Oliver slashed his hand through the air definitively. “I said it was done. Now just… Go home, Felicity.”

Hurt flashed across her face before she looked away.

After a heavy minute, she shook her head, letting out a huff of incredulous laugh and grabbed her jacket again. She hit a few keys, setting the computers back to their default searches and turned to go, not sparing him a glance.

He wanted to apologize, he wanted to say he didn’t mean to be a dick about it, that the last thing he wanted was for her to get involved in this, to see what he had seen, what he had participated in. He just wanted to explain it to her without having to explain how he knew anything.

Because he knew the minute she knew, she would never look at him the same again.

He closed his eyes, not moving as she shoved her tablet inside her purse.

“You don’t have to carry all this by yourself, Oliver.” She slid her jacket on in rough jerky movements. “The last time I checked, we were a team, not a dictatorship. So whatever your problem is, just get over it.”

She moved towards the stairs, not giving him a chance to reply. Not that he had anything to say. She was making a point, a valid point, but he couldn’t let it go. Not yet. Not until he talked to Alexi, not until he figured out what the Bratva had planned, and not until he got it out of Starling City.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Oliver?” 

He looked back at her. “What?” 

“Did something else happen in Russia, besides, you know, the extremely poor judgment choices?”

“No.”

“Well something obviously happened. Or you know something you aren’t sharing with the rest of us… Something that’s scaring you.”

“Felicity…” 

She waited, but nothing came.

Felicity clenched her jaw and shook her head minutely. “Alright, fine, keep it to yourself.” A layer of sarcasm and derision he had never heard directed his way coated her words. “That’s a great plan.” She turned, her hand on the stair railing. “You know, Oliver, you didn’t come back from the island just to push everyone away again.”

The hurt and disappointment that had finally disappeared was back, echoing in the foundry in her wake.

The stairs creaked as Oliver watched her go, watched her disappear through the door. His eyes closed for a brief second, wanting to call her back. Instead he leaned over her computers, opening the program that linked him to the outside cameras. She appeared a second later in the alley, striding purposefully towards her car.

A few seconds later, she was gone.

Oliver groaned, scrubbing his hands across his face and then over his head. This one thing, that was all he was asking for, this one thing. 

A series of pings came from his phone where he’d left it, disrupting his thoughts, and then the far computer monitor came to life.

Alexi Leonov’s face lit up the screen underneath a blocked number.


	2. All that is, was, and will be, universe much too big to see… (96 hours before the gala…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the awesome response to this story so far, you guys! I am planning on updating every Monday, and I do want to warn everyone again that this will be a dark story - a lot of you picked up on the themes. There is a reason that Oliver was so emotionless and cold and hard at the beginning of Season 1, and I'm exploring some of those reasons in this story. On that note, Felicity's POV is coming up, so that will help lighten things a bit.

“I’ve never seen Felicity this pissed at you for this long.”

Diggle’s dry words floated to where he sat in the back of the Mercedes.

Oliver didn’t respond.

He wasn’t wrong.

Felicity had barely looked at him when she’d gotten to QC that morning. She’d walked in with the coffee she usually picked up from the spot near her house, but instead of the three she normally carried, she only had two. She had pointedly given Diggle a bright smile and a chipper good morning before handing him his coffee and her eyes had slid right past Oliver.

He didn’t miss the tenseness in her shoulders or the darker circles under her eyes. They had more late nights in the foundry than not, and somehow she always managed to come in the next morning looking like she hadn’t spent ten hours hunched over a computer, but this time there was something new. She was… tense. Uncomfortable. Angry.

They had never had a fight like this before - they had never had issues with scooting past a few brisk words to calming down and returning to normal. Oliver knew the blame laid on his shoulders, knew he was the reason why she was ignoring the hell out of him, obviously hurt and annoyed and angry still. He should sit her down and apologize, and he had grand plans to do that very thing…

After. 

Until then, he wished she would just… _listen_ to him.

It was all he wanted right now. It was so simple.

Listen to him, trust him to take care of this, before it got too big and out of control, and more people - including her - got hurt.

Oliver hadn’t fared much better after getting Alexi’s call that morning. He’d tossed and turned on the cot for a few hours, Felicity’s words ringing in his head and the anticipation of his meeting with Alexi strumming through him. It had quickly morphed into a restless energy that he’d ended up beating into another training dummy for about an hour before heading home, where Thea had been waiting for him.

She’d greeted him with a cold shoulder and a, “Where have you been?” When he responded with a, “It’s none of your business, Speedy,” she’d given him an incredulous look: “You do realize mom is in _jail_ , right, Ollie? And first you disappear skiing, of all things, and then you go to Russia on ‘business’ - with your _secretary_ , I might add - and now you’ve barely been home… It’s like when you first came back. From the island. You’re acting like this doesn’t even matter…”

And then he’d been greeted with another cold shoulder in the form of Felicity at the office.

The only contact she’d given him the entire day was a short response during an investors meeting that morning. He wasn’t counting the sharp ‘get your shit together’ look she’d shot him when he’d snapped at one of the investors.

There wasn’t much he kept from his team - they were his partners in all the ways that counted, but where the Bratva were concerned… he would not go into that. It had taken him a few hours of busting his knuckles and fingers against everything in the foundry to finally feel like he could breathe, like he hadn’t yet slipped all the way into the avid pit of shame living in his chest. 

He just had to take care of this himself, and get it out of Starling before it blew up in his face.

Oliver rubbed his eyes tiredly, staring blindly out the window.

“It might be a new personal record for you.” Oliver finally looked at Diggle, meeting his amused eyes in the rearview mirror. The smirk was evident in his voice, making it very clear he thought Oliver deserved it. “Just saying.”

Silence reigned, occasionally interrupted by the gentle rumble of the engine as they made their way to meet with Alexi.

“So is this about last night?” No answer. “I figured as much.” Oliver closed his eyes. “Although I didn’t think she was that upset to not even look at you all day.” Nothing. “I was sort of looking forward to her coming in and busting your balls.”

Oliver had been expecting the same thing. The silent treatment was so out of character for her; it was unnerving when she barely made a sound all day. It made him feel shittier than if she had come in guns blazing.

It meant he had really hurt her feelings.

All the more reason to get this taken care of so they could get back to normal.

“Am I going to have to subscribe to the weekly Felicity & Oliver Squabble news issue or are you just going to tell me what is going on between you two?”

“It’s nothing, Diggle.”

Diggle snorted. “Yeah, we both know that’s a load of crap.” He pulled into the open yard of the Russian garage. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and these clubs, Oliver, but taking it out on Felicity isn’t helping anything.”

“I’m not taking it out on her.”

“Right.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“What, this job or you and Felicity?” Oliver glared at the back of his head. Diggle must have felt it because he said, “The longer I know you, man, the more I realize everything with you is pretty complicated. And you know why that is? Because you make it that way.”

The exasperated noise Oliver made had Diggle smiling. “I’m just saying.”

“Well you aren’t exactly helping anything either, helping her with those searches,” Oliver replied thinly.

“I was just making sure she didn’t get in over her head.” It was Oliver’s turn to snort. “She needed somebody on her side.” The not-so-subtle dig had Oliver grimacing, and he barely let Diggle park the car before he had his door open. Diggle followed suit. “Communication makes the world go around, Oliver. You want her to trust you when you say to stop something - something as serious as stopping a potential sex ring setting up shop in Starling City - you need to trust her right back by telling her why.” 

Oliver rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, gritting his teeth. “As much as I enjoy our therapy sessions, Diggle, I’d really appreciate it if you’d back off.” 

“You _are_ feisty today.”

Oliver glowered at him. He wanted to get this meeting with Alexi over with, he wanted to find out about the clubs, he wanted to know what he was up against because there was no way in cold hell he was sanctioning an op that put Felicity in the middle of a mob party where she was basically at anyone’s mercy.

Absolutely not.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Oh, because then you’ll actually open up about what’s swimming around in that complicated melon of yours?”

Oliver ignored him. He moved to the garage door, and Diggle followed.

“Ah, the very ill-disguised headquarters for the Starling City chapter of the Solntsevskaya Bratva,” Diggle said, butchering the hell out of the name. Oliver grunted at his attempt. “What? No good?”

“No,” Oliver replied in a clipped tone. “You remember what happened last time?”

“You mean when you killed that guy as a favor to your buddy in there.”

“Yep.”

“Then yes, I do remember.”

Oliver stopped before they reached the door. “Same rules. Just go with whatever happens.”

Diggle hummed his assent, following him inside. “Will I get to see that fancy trick again?”

“Hopefully not.”

The smell of engine oil, gasoline and burnt rubber met them when they entered. They were early but Alexi was already waiting, sitting at a table in the corner. His “mechanic” - the same guy with the overly heavy brow that Oliver had disarmed in the blink of an eye at their first meeting - was off in the corner, standing guard.

Alexi stood to greet them as the mechanic moved ahead of him, stopping Oliver and Diggle in their tracks.

Oliver bit back the urge to reach out and snap the man’s wrist. He met the guard’s eyes in blatant greeting, his eyes flickering over him quickly. His hands were empty but he saw the obvious lump of a gun and he caught the silver of a wrench in his back pocket. The mechanic slowly blinked and Oliver cocked his head, wondering if he even remembered how quickly he’d disarmed him last time. 

“Sorry, my friend,” Alexi said, coming up. He patted the mechanic’s shoulder in dismissal. “A mere precaution. We have had some new interests coming to light and have had to… reassert a few standings. You understand.”

 _“Konechno,”_ Oliver replied.

_Of course._

Alexi offered Oliver his hand with a wide smile and Oliver gripped it. “Good to see you.”

“And you, Alexi,” Oliver said, forcing friendly pleasure into his tone. “I’m glad to hear you’re keeping busy.”

“Business expansion is always good. I apologize for the delay in returning your call, there has been much to do in the recent weeks,” Alexi replied with a smile, like the smile was supposed to explain it all. “What can I do for you? There’s no gulags here in Starling City.”

Oliver paused, his eyes narrowing, the words catching at the edge of his patience.

Alexi knew who he was, who he had been in Russia, and knew that he was who he claimed be in the organization. As far as Oliver was concerned, that was enough. That he had obviously heard about their trip to Russia last week and probably much more than that from Anatoly on a regular basis was… aggravating. Especially because of Digg’s involvement.

And Felicity’s.

Oliver almost let his façade slip before catching it. He grinned, hoping it looked better than it felt. “Anatoly talks too much.”

 _”Da, eto prawda,”_ Alexi said.

_Yes, it’s true._

Oliver’s chuckle lacked all amusement. _“Togda mozet nam menche konsentrirowatsa na cpletnjach ka starie babi i bolche goworit o biznesse?”_

_Then perhaps we should focus less on gossiping like old wives and keep it strictly business?_

Alexi cocked his head, eyes narrowing at the thinly veiled insult. He finally nodded. 

“Those new interests you mentioned are actually why I’ve come today,” Oliver continued.

“Ah?” Alexi replied.

“The new clubs?”

“Anatoly has mentioned your prior involvement in such matters.” Alexi smirked at his blatant disregard of Oliver’s request regarding gossip. His tone changed though, warming slightly as he said, “As well as what you did for the brotherhood. I had heard of the incident at the Kaliningrad port, but I did not know that was you.”

Oliver stared at him, eyes hard, simultaneously wishing he’d left Diggle outside and wondering just how much he had heard, what Anatoly had told him.

The first days of his life in the mob had been something from an alternate universe.

It had been a familiar world to him: it was all girls, money and alcohol, all the time. Parties here and parties there, endless cash flow and more than enough reasons to drink himself silly. The similarities between that world and who he had been before the Gambit, before the island - before everything - made it easier. There were some small petty crimes to keep the cash flowing, but it was nothing compared to what he had had to do on the island, or with Waller… compared to what had driven him to run from Hong Kong.

Thanks to his relationship with Anatoly, he had risen in the ranks quickly, quicker than most and definitely not without its issues, but friendship only got one so far. First, he was American, something completely unheard of, one who didn’t even speak Russian, and second, he still had so much to learn about, well, everything.

It had taken a few weeks for him to realize he couldn’t be part of the organization and do nothing. It took a few street fights, an accidental death and a series of showcasing how far his torturing talents had come for the brotherhood to start taking him seriously, but it had put him on the path to eventually earning the title of Captain, as it should be, and earn it he did in a short amount of time, impressing even the Pakhan with the flip that switched in his soul.

The turn had come on so abruptly that Anatoly had pulled him aside one day to make sure everything was alright.

Being a Bratva Captain was an honor, and one that guaranteed many things, but there was also expectation.

He had to be active, he had to be involved, which meant helping to cater to the seedier world of Russia, the one that spread its slimy tentacles throughout Asia and even further than that, however far the Pakhan wanted, whatever grew the Bratva empire.

The brotherhood was a pendulum of criminal activity, swinging in many directions from drugs to gun-running to theft to money laundering to murder and to the one Oliver had been the deepest in: the business of girls.

To this day he could remember with vivid alacrity the scent of the clubs he visited daily. Spilt vodka on old wooden floors, ripe cologne mixed with cheap perfume, sex permeating the air. The clubs were legitimate businesses, honest by the standards of whatever the mob said were honest; and when the Bratva said something - whether that was which politician was going to go where, which club was going to open on what block, who was going to be in charge of what bank, or how much money you had to pay to the brotherhood to maintain your business - it was accepted as truth, including the clubs.

Considering the life Oliver had inhabited before the Gambit went down, there was a lot about the world he didn’t know, that he had needed to learn, most importantly about sex - what it meant and how it could be used - and he had taken on those lessons as a Bratva Captain.

How Oliver had landed where he had landed was still a mystery to him. It had happened so fast, and he had done nothing to stop it. He went from seeking refuge with Anatoly to partying to being introduced to the organization, to helping the right hand man of the Pakhan and then straight into his designated post in Hungary where he had been encouraged to ‘sample’ the local businesses, to find his interests as a Captain, to find the best spot for him to land.

To recruit. To build. To _grow._

Petty crimes were one thing, something Oliver was all too willing to engage in. He had already killed more people than he ever could have dreamed of, tortured, maimed, murdered dozens with bad decisions, so what were a few more red marks in his ledger?

Racketeering and creative loan enforcement became his bread and butter - his entire existence in the Bratva was in the company of bad people, so what was wrong with hurting other bad people? - until he’d walked into a club in Hungary at the side of a fellow Captain, and then he’d fallen into a black hole.

One that had taken months for him to climb back out of.

Oliver dipped his head in acquiescence, his mind flashing back to the warehouse Alexi spoke of, the one that had been littering his subconscious like black mold ever since the word ‘Bratva’ had left Felicity’s lips.

“Your timing is most fortuitous, my friend,” Alexi continued, bringing Oliver back to the present. He furrowed his brow at his words and Alexi waved to the table behind him. “I have received a request that you will be able to help me with in return.”

Oliver bit his tongue before he could tell Alexi to shove the request up his ass. “Oh?”

“I assume,” Alexi continued, turning to retrieve a file from the pile on the table, “That you want to discuss your potential involvement in these ventures with the clubs, especially since your last endeavor in Starling City was, well… interrupted.”

That was a kind way to put the police storming the drug deal he had been posed to go through with the vertigo drug. After the Count had gone down, Oliver had received assurances from Alexi that they would find who had tipped off the SCPD, and that they would also ‘take care of the Robin Hood who is too nosy for his own good.’

Oliver had yet to see any ‘taking care’ by the Bratva, which had shoved the little esteem he had for the man sitting in front of him even lower.

Alexi sat down, using the manila file to wave to the other chair. “Sit, my friend.”

Oliver gave the mechanic a bland look before sitting. Alexi pulled out a bottle of vodka with two small glasses. “First, we drink.”

He poured each glass and slid one to Oliver. They drank and Alexi immediately filled the glasses again. Oliver picked the glass up but didn’t drink it.

 _“Eti dewuschki potensialine?”_ Oliver asked, nodding to the piles of paperwork, intentionally asking in Russian so Digg wouldn’t hear.

_Are these potential girls?_

Alexi gave him an amused look.

And he didn’t answer. Instead, he invited Oliver to another silent toast before they both drank again.

The second shot slid down his gullet, leaving a burning trail in its wake. Oliver pressed his lips together in agitation, holding the empty glass a little too tightly. The lack of sleep coupled with the new Bratva ventures and Felicity getting too close to all of it was wearing him dangerously thin. He didn’t have time for genial drinks and small talk.

“I am more of a… cog, in the larger machine, if you will. I am not directly involved with the product.” Alexi filled the glasses, hopefully not seeing the way Oliver’s eye twitched when he mentioned the ‘product.’ “There is a party coming up, a charity gala for a local issue being held in Central City. Many people will be there, including the parties you seek. You can meet them if you go. It is at the end of the week, this Saturday night.”

Oliver hadn’t been involved in the beginning stages back in Budapest with the clubs he had worked there, but he knew this was a very easy way for the heads of the local Bratva chapters to meet, to mingle, to… _peruse_. He’d been fast-tracked to handling a very similar opening in Bucharest before everything fell apart, and he knew this was a quick way to purchase for their endeavor.

Oliver’s mind flashed to his last week in Kaliningrad, to his last ‘business endeavor’ while there, and his throat felt too tight.

The thought of Felicity in that same position surfaced in his mind unbidden and he almost upended the table.

Oliver nodded. “Alright. I will be there.”

“Good. And now your favor for me.”

Oliver inhaled slowly through a clenched jaw as Alexi picked up the same folder he’d grabbed earlier. Despite how much he wanted to tell Alexi to fuck off, to grab him by the shirt and slam him face-first into the table and just take what he needed, he didn’t. He knew the code, and he knew it needed to be honored if he wanted to maintain his position.

He could hear Diggle shifting in anticipation behind him.

“This is a special request, for a friend.” Alexi handed the folder to Oliver. “He has requested the package be alive when it is delivered.”

Oliver frowned, a chill going down his spine. He kept the folder closed. “Package?”

Alexi nodded to the file with a crooked smile. “I don’t know what his intentions are, but he is always looking for specific… product.” 

Oliver stared at him for a beat before opening it.

A candid picture of Felicity walking into Queen Consolidated stared back at him.

His heart stopped.

If he thought for one moment that there wasn't anything that could throw him any more off kilter than he already was, he was very, very wrong.

“He has requested it be delivered very soon.” Alexi poured another drink - for himself only. “The party night will do. It will serve as a good distraction and alibi.”

Oliver barely heard him.

The folder was filled with a few sheets of paper, full of facts and scarily specific information, but he didn’t need to see those, because he already knew everything about the “package.”

Oliver moved mechanically, shifting the papers until his eyes fell on a stack of pictures clipped to the folder. He stiffly flipped through the first few, of Felicity as she ate a salad, drank from a water bottle, typed on her tablet while walking, bought her nonfat caramel latte from the coffee shop across the street from Queen Consolidated, talked on her phone, sat in her living room watching TV, removed makeup with a wet cloth from her face in her bathroom…

Her _bathroom_ , where there were no windows or access from the outside.

“She is your assistant, no?”

Diggle’s quick intake of air was lost in the white noise that filled Oliver’s ears. With a swift kick to his chest, the anger and fear he had pounded into the training dummies roared back to life; the anger he had channeled into every inch of his body trying to get rid of it – of the past, of the present, of everything - burned a hot hole in his stomach.

It surged back to life, and he barely kept himself still. He barely kept himself from reaching out and smacking the smug smirk off Alexi’s face before breaking his neck in the same breath.

The way he said it - _“You’ve got your hand in the proverbial cookie jar, Mr. Queen, use it”_ \- laid out exactly why Alexi was asking him for this favor. Oliver had direct access to her, he was a public figure and he was in a position in her life that likely wouldn’t warrant much questioning past, “When did you last see your assistant, Mr. Queen?”

Oliver blinked rapidly, molding his lips into what he was sure felt like a smile, and nodded.

He vaguely saw Alexi continue to talk, but he didn’t hear a word of it as he stared at the pictures. The anger churning in his gut swept through his body, making his limbs feel like they would vibrate right off his body if he didn’t do _something._

Felicity.

They wanted Felicity.

They had been following her, watching her, taking notes.

They knew where she worked, where she lived.

They had been _inside her house._

His mind spun around the thought of people lurking after her in the dark, watching her, invading her personal space, close enough to touch her, and… and he hadn’t known a damn thing about it. He had let it happen. He had been so worried about everything around him - about Sara, about his mom, about Thea - that he hadn’t noticed.

He had been so up in arms about her safety, but it had already been at her doorstep.

And she was playing right into it - what did they want with her? Why? Had someone left that trail for Felicity to follow, so she would be involved, so it would be easier to… take her? How did they know about her?

“She is a fine piece, especially to find already in your company,” Alexi said. “Perhaps the pool there is quite generous - she will be easy to replace, no?” 

Oliver closed his eyes for a brief second and saw himself flipping the table, reaching over and shoving his fist into Alexi’s throat before spinning and yanking the wrench from the guard and using it to bludgeon both of them to death. The thought of either of them breathing the same air as her, being close enough to do so, terrified him.

A piece of metal sliced deep into his fingers and Oliver grunted softly, forcing himself to release his death grip on the table. Blood rushed to the surface, dripping to the floor. He pressed his shaking hand to his leg to staunch the flow, noticing that Alexi was still talking.

“… When you bring her, we will have arrangements in place to take her out of Central City, to her destination.”

Out of Central City.

To her destination.

Away. From Starling City, away from her life.

_Away from him._

“No,” Oliver interrupted sharply, the words out before he knew he was speaking. “That won’t be necessary.” He kept his bloody hand under the table, pressed to his pants, closing the folder with his right hand before looking at Alexi. 

A deathly calm settled over him - it was comforting and familiar, his body relaxing and his racing heart starting to pace itself, and within it he knew one thing and only one thing: nothing was going to happen to Felicity.

He wasn’t going to let it.

“She is not going anywhere,” he said.

Alexi froze, his glass of vodka hovering before him. He stared at Oliver like he’d just been presented with both a lifelong riddle and the answer for it as he slowly lowered it back to the table. “I don’t think I understand.”

 _“Ona moja,”_ Oliver said, his words hard and full of finality. _“I ona zaprechena.”_

_She’s mine. And she is off limits._

Alexi leaned back, staring at Oliver appraisingly. “Yours?”

Oliver heard Digg’s sharp inhale again but he ignored him.

“Yes,” Oliver bit out, narrowing his eyes. “ _Mine_. And she is off limits to _anyone_. If someone has any… qualms with Ms. Smoak, they will need to speak to me. Directly.”

Oliver grabbed the folder containing her information and pictures as he continued darkly, _“Ja s neterpeniem zdu informatisii na shet cubbotnej galli.”_

_I look forward to receiving the information for Saturday’s gala._

Oliver didn’t give Alexi a chance to reply. He stood, his fingers stinging when he curled them into a tight fist at his side, the throbbing cuts pulsating through his entire body.

He concentrated on his steps, on getting out of there.

He didn’t see the mechanic or Diggle or anyone.

He only saw the pictures in the folder, Felicity’s unassuming face as she ate her food, drank her coffee, lived her life under surveillance…

Oliver’s world narrowed to the door leading to the outside world.

He could only think about what happened next.

Get outside.

Get away.

Before he did something he regretted.

*

“Oliver, wait.”

He hadn’t heard a single thing Diggle had said the entire ride back to the foundry.

The sun had long since set by the time they left the Bratva garage, and Oliver had stared blindingly at the city lights as they streamed past his window in a blur. The folder had stayed clenched tightly in his bloody fist, barely feeling the blood starting to congeal and dry, making his hand sticky.

He could only think one thing, a mantra that repeated over and over in his head.

This was _exactly_ why he needed her to listen to him. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense that she had gone snooping around and they had found her. He hadn’t even thought to ask Alexi why, because he knew it didn’t matter - the request had been made, all that was left was to fill it. The Code dictated loyalty above all else, which - according to the brotherhood - meant you respected your brothers and their requests and you did them without question, and that same service was expected in return. No why’s.

The only person who knew the answer to the _why_ was the bastard who wanted her.

Somebody wanted Felicity.

Tension and anger radiated off him in waves, and Diggle barely had a chance to park the car before Oliver was out the door, heading towards the club, towards her. He could hear the beginnings of the heavy bass as Verdant got ready to open, the faint clinking of glasses from the bartender setting up, and Oliver had enough state of mind intact to go around to the alley entrance.

Diggle appeared out of nowhere, wrapping Oliver’s arm in a vice grip. “Oliver, stop.”

Oliver looked down at Digg’s hand before slowly looking up at the man himself.

“Let go of me, John.”

“No, I don’t think so. I get it, I heard him too and I know we need to think about what happens next, but you are way too steamed. You need to calm down before you go down there.”

Oliver cocked his head, not realizing the blank look he wore was eerily similar to the one he had sported during his first weeks back from the island; the detached, empty look that was more armor than anything he could put on physically.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you are not fine. And you are not going in there and taking her head off. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately with this Bratva stuff, but you can’t take that out on her. I won’t let you.”

Oliver stared at him, brow furrowed. The darkness shining back at Diggle wasn’t just the alley or the moonless sky - it was something else, and Diggle would have felt a chill down his spine if he wasn’t so focused on keeping Oliver grounded.

“Why don’t you go home, calm down for a bit.”

Oliver blinked slowly.

He reached down and removed the other man’s hand from his arm. Diggle clenched his jaw in pain and frustration, finally relenting before Oliver snapped his hand in two.

“I would never do anything to hurt her,” Oliver said quietly, darkly.

Diggle frowned. “Yeah, I know that, Oliver, that’s not what…” But Oliver was already gone. “Oliver!”

He easily evaded Diggle’s reach and was at the door leading to the basement of Verdant the next second. His hand whipped the code out, the door closing behind him before Diggle could catch it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews literally feed my soul and muse. Thank you for reading!


	3. Misery, you insist that the weight of the world… (95 hours before the gala…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Thank you_ for the response to this story, everyone! And yet another reminder that this story will be dark, and there will be consequences reflecting that...

Felicity sat at her desk in the foundry, shoulders hunched forward, head hanging limply as she tried to rub the evil headache right out of her poor defenseless head.

It was a combination of lack of sleep, not sleeping very well in the hours she had managed to snag, way too much coffee all day, avoiding Oliver like the plague - something he really deserved right then, the black plague all over his stupid body - and frustration, anger and fear that this fight with Oliver wasn’t just a fight.

She was worried that it was something else - what, she didn’t really know - and that that something else might not be easily fixed with a simple, “Hey, sorry I blew up on you. You know I’m an ass about ninety-seven percent of the time. Forgive me?”

Pigs would fly in sparkly pink tutus before she ever heard the words ‘I’m sorry’ coming from Oliver Queen’s mouth.

If that did actually happen, she might admit it hadn’t been her best idea to offer herself up as bait with the new clubs. Maybe not the safest plan to sign up for a waitress or hostess job and sit back and wait to get roped into something much, much more horrible and terrifying.

But better her, someone who had the freaking Arrow on her speed dial, than some unsuspecting girl who didn’t know what she was getting into.

Ever since half the Glades had collapsed, everything in Starling City had tanked. There was no more black for anyone, it was all red, all bad red in the form of lost or damaged property, fleeing citizens, and investments going down the drain. As people had fled, investors had backed out in droves, and they were just now starting to tentatively stick a foot back in their realm.

It was all bad. Which meant a lot of people were out of jobs and looking for something - anything - to keep food on the table. Which also meant they were willing to take jobs they normally would never have accepted, to agree to weird terms and conditions that would have made them think twice a few months before Merlyn’s insanity touched down.

Felicity knew that desperation, she had lived that desperation. Her mom had spent more than seventy hours a week in six-inch stilettos walking around crummy bad-tipping customers in Vegas, earning as much as she could so they could have food on the table, so they could afford to buy Felicity school supplies and the crappy old computer she’d stared at for four months from the thrift store.

She knew the desperation that drove people to do things they otherwise normally wouldn’t do, including signing up for a job with a whole bucket-load of small print that was sort of the equivalent of selling these people your body.

Felicity had done her research, she had learned as much as she could about human trafficking in general - all of which had left her positively nauseous and even more eager to do something - as well as what that world was like when associated with the Russian mob.

The Bratva had dozens of spots all over Russia, and more in other countries, that were rumored to be linked to human trafficking. From what she’d read, the Russian mob _were_ the police, and nobody took the time to question them, to wonder where all these girls disappeared to. She read about young girls following in the footsteps of their family members because all they saw were dollar signs, of those same young girls being found dead on the streets, in dumpsters, in burned out cars, bodies bruised, scarred and beaten. She’d read about what happened to the girls who wound up pregnant, to their children if they made it to term, being sold or left to the elements. The mothers rarely made it since they never got medical care. A cargo ship had stalled in international waters due to engine trouble and when they’d had to call for mechanical help, they’d “taken care of the cargo” and broken bodies and limbs had washed up on the shores for weeks afterwards.

It was very bad news.

Bad enough news that when she had heard the Bratva - or the “brotherhood,” which was just creepy sounding, like the deranged families you only see in horror movies who collected eyeteeth and toenails - were opening new clubs around Starling City, very near places easily accessible to the type of people they were looking for, it was damn worthy of research.

Hacking into their system had been a complete bust - talk about paranoid, the entire thing was layered in freaking Russian; Russian here, Russian there, Russian everywhere. She had tried some translation programs she knew, but they barely made a dent, and their crazy Cyrillic alphabet was way, way above her paygrade. At least until the new translating program she was working on was strong enough to start taking out the wacky alphabet garbage, but it was like the blind leading the blind without an actual Russian translator sitting right next to her.

That had been a huge blow because this was her area, this was what she did for the team…

It couldn’t be helped that she had just gone with the next thing that had popped into her head, something she _could_ do. 

Using herself as bait had worked before, it would work again. It was a tried and true method that Oliver had approved of.

But instead of his simple acceptance, she had inadvertently pushed him over an edge she didn’t even know was there.

Felicity groaned. She wished he would just come around, spit out whatever was bothering him and then they could move on. She’d been more than willing to give him a hard time after their first blowout before letting it slide - because this was Oliver, she didn’t fight with Oliver - but then he’d been here when she’d come in very, very early that morning and… well, the word “dismissal” felt too light.

And she was still super pissed about it.

_“Just go home, Felicity.”_

Just thinking about it made a fiery ire rise in her chest.

Felicity’s phone started buzzing, making her jump. She glanced at the screen, for a fleeting second wondering if it was Oliver calling - although Oliver didn’t call her, but she liked the idea of calling him names through a phone line rather than to his face - but it was her mother.

Felicity frowned, and then closed her eyes.

“I can’t deal with you right now, mom,” she whispered, pressing ignore, the throbbing in her head growing.

It certainly wasn’t being helped by the dreams that had permeated the few hours of sleep she had gotten.

She’d veered randomly from large Cyrillic letters crawling out of her skin to a revisit to The Dream, a wildly inappropriate adventure involving Oliver’s hands, something she’d thought she’d put behind her months ago. She was definitely not thinking about how warm they had been that morning, how safe she’d felt when he was so close, holding her, chasing away the perpetual chill that had danced across her skin since she’d started looking into the Bratva… 

No, she was not thinking about that.

He had, after all, caused her to basically punch herself in the chin like the smoothest creature possible, and only when she’d gotten home had she realized she had gone to the foundry wearing her pajamas with her greasy hair piled on her head, completely makeupless save for the specialty cream she’d bought for nasty pimples dried to her face. At least it had been clear-drying.

But still.

And her chin was still achy.

“Ugh, this isn’t good,” she whispered. She rubbed her temples harder. “Anger makes me splotchy, and that leads to me touching my face every five seconds, and that leads to more breakouts and then that leads right back to anger.”

Her phone rang again, this time from a Las Vegas area code, and Felicity’s head dropped as she let it go to voicemail.

She tried a breathing technique from one of her yoga videos.

It only made her throat dry, making her cough.

She was about to get some water and see if Oliver had Tylenol stashed anywhere when she heard the keypad at the alley entrance rapidly beeping as the code was entered; the boys were back from their super-secret fieldtrip.

Felicity squared her shoulders, her plan to get water forgotten.

She focused on her computers and fought the urge to lock them back out when the door slammed open.

She heard the distinct racket of Oliver’s gait on the metal stairs, his feet hitting them harder than normal, his hands squeaking on the metal rails.

She specifically did not look back at him, staring blindly at her computers.

He apparently didn’t seem to care.

Oliver’s arm suddenly appeared in front of her and Felicity let out a gargled gasp. A few keystrokes later and he had her entire system shutting down.

The few inches of forgiveness she had thought about handing him disappeared in a cloud of anger that he had the freaking _audacity_ after the way he had treated her.

“What the hell are you doing, Oliver?” she demanded, spinning to follow him but he hadn’t moved. She spun her chair right into him and she let out a startled yelp when he leaned down to get in her face.

She’d never seen his eyes so dark, his jaw so hard. He’d obviously not done very well in the sleep department either because he looked like crap - dark circles, eyes red and agitated, and that hollow-faced look of someone who hadn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in a very long time. He looked like he could use a hug, and her brain was not on her side if she was the one wanting to reach out and give it to him. Because she would not be doing that, no matter how good he smelled - was that car oil? - or how tense his shoulders were, his muscles bunched up like he wanted to hit something.

He looked ready to explode.

Well maybe he should stop shoving everyone away with a thirty-foot pole of jerkness and he wouldn’t be so freaking miserable.

Felicity took a deep breath, steadying her startled heart. His eyes narrowed, darting down to her lips when she opened her mouth to tell him to get out of her face, but he cut her off, his eyes pinning her in place.

“You are coming to the mansion with me tonight,” he said in a low, heavy voice.

The sound of it sent a nervous tingle down her spine.

His words took a second too long to process.

“Wait, what?” she asked, but Oliver was already moving away.

Felicity stood to follow, turning to look at Diggle who finally clamored down the stairs.

Her worry levels rose up a few notches when he moved to stand next to her, arms crossed, eyes glued to Oliver.

“Okay, Oliver, I’m not sure if this is some weird island intimidation tactic of yours or whatever, but I’m not going home with you.” The words registered a quick second later, irritatingly intimate after her visit with The Dream last night, and her heart skipped a beat. “I mean I’m not going to your house.”

“It’s not up for discussion,” was all he said as he yanked his jacket off. He dropped it and a bloody manila folder on the table next to his leathers. 

“Yeah, actually it is.”

He ignored her, yanking the glass case open with too much force, making the hinges groan when he shoved the door back too far.

“You can’t just walk in here, especially after the way you’ve been acting, and throw demands around, Oliver, that isn’t how this works. That isn’t how general society works.”

Oliver actually growled at her. “Well maybe you should have just kept your nose out of the damn mob business, like I specifically told you to!”

Felicity saw red.

“How dare you-”

“Oh, I dare,” Oliver snapped, dropping his hood and turning to her, his finger pointing getting a little too close for comfort to her face. “I told you it was dangerous, I told you to stop, and now they know you’ve been looking into them.”

“What?”

“You-” Oliver started, his voice already echoing in the foundry, but Diggle cut him off.

“That’s enough, Oliver,” he said loudly and Felicity jumped, looking at him with wide eyes before he placed himself between them. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on - because John in full-out soldier mode was now quickly climbing her list of terrifying things to see in action - but Diggle didn’t give her a chance as he turned to her, his face grave. “We just met with the Bratva, Felicity, and they had a request. For you.”

She paused. “What? What does that mean, ‘they had a request’?”

“It means someone noticed you were snooping around,” Oliver growled, moving around Diggle, his voice rising. “They-”

“Okay, first of all,” Felicity yelled, stopping him by cutting her hands through the air. “That is pretty much impossible because I couldn’t even get _into_ their systems for anyone to follow me anywhere, much less know who I am. The entire thing was in Russian - and I don’t speak Russian, if you haven’t noticed! - so it is pretty much impossible for them to find me snooping when I wasn’t even snooping!”

Oliver glared at her, opening his mouth to yell some more, but she made the same cutting motions, glaring right back.

“And second, you have zero right to come barging in here on your high and mighty demented horse, demanding that I do something - especially when that something is going to your _house_ , without a single explanation - instead of asking politely, like a normal human being would!”

When he flinched at her words, she felt both the tickle of remorse and pride.

“Alright, that’s enough, both of you,” Diggle said, waving his hands between them. “You’re both obviously a little too wired, let’s take a breath here, okay?”

Oliver let out an indistinguishable growl of words, turning back to the glass case. He picked up his jacket and practically ripped his pants off the metal mannequin before stalking towards the bathroom.

Felicity closed her eyes, fingers at her temples again as the headache she had been trying to stave off came back with a vengeance. She pinched the bridge of her nose, biting her lips before taking a deep breath.

Diggle touched her elbow. “Hey, you okay?”

“No,” she replied with a humorless laugh. “He is just…” She waved her hands around her head. “All he’s been doing is snapping at me. I know he doesn’t talk a lot, but this is, like, past normal levels of not talking.”

They both heard the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut, making Felicity jump before she sent a heated look in that direction.

“Okay. Can you please explain what is going on? Because I’m a little in the dark, and I might be a little too upset to properly process anything besides third-grade level words.”

Diggle’s somber look was doing nothing to make her feel better. “We met with the Starling City Bratva chapter. That’s where we were tonight.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Felicity said. “Can’t tell me why he’s so intent on taking my head off all of a sudden, or that he’s meeting with the Russian mafia. Or that they were already here, or how he even knows them.”

“That’s not the important part, Felicity,” Digg replied. He grabbed her shoulders gently. “The way they work is favor for a favor. Sort of a quid pro quo. Oliver asked after the new clubs, getting intel on who is leading the charge on that front.”

“I’m still not seeing what that has to do with me.”

“You were the quid pro quo, Felicity.”

Felicity blinked at him. Yeah, she’d caught that earlier, but that was just… ridiculous. She tried to wrap her head around that, that the Russian mob - that _any_ mob - was interested in her. She could understand if it was an American mob - was there such a thing as an American mob? - or even the American government breathing down her neck, maybe, because she hadn’t exactly spent any quality time hacking into anything Russian, well, ever. And her one and only attempt threw her face-first into a code brick wall.

It didn’t make sense.

“Did you hear me?” Diggle asked, concern mirrored back at her in his eyes.

“I hope you mean that they need help with their taxes or something.”

The smile on his face was brief and he shook his head. “The favor was to bring you to them.”

Her stomach dropped.

The words hung between them.

“I don’t…” _Bring her to them_ … Like... “Like what? Why?” 

“That’s why you can’t go home, Felicity, they might be watching your apartment. It’s safer to stay away from there for now.”

Felicity shook her head, numbed shock traipsing through her system, making her chest feel tight. “But… but I didn’t do anything. Why…”

Her voice was shrinking, sounding really tiny and far away as her mind cycled her through every single thing she’d been reading over the last several days. The reports, the crime scene photos, the rumors… what had happened to one over-zealous attorney who tried to take the Bratva on - to his family - and the terror on one girl’s face when she’d been pulled out of a cargo box...

“Why do they want me?”

Oliver reappeared then, but he was less Oliver and more the Arrow. His hood was up, face shrouded. He stalked past them without a glance, Diggle letting her go to face him like he was afraid Oliver was going to charge her or something.

Which only made the fact that Felicity felt the overwhelming urge to push past John and shove herself into Oliver’s arms slightly alarming.

There had been something different about the way he’d acted that morning, the way he’d touched her and held her. It’d felt like a safety cocoon, like nothing could touch her as long as she stayed there, and she really, really needed to feel something other than the weightless sensation starting to attack her limbs.

Her chest felt too tight, her mind going about fifty miles per hour too fast.

She suddenly felt exposed, standing there without anything around her. It was the complete opposite of what she had felt that morning when it had been just them and she desperately wanted to seek it out right then. The way he’d cupped her face, how warm his eyes had been, how soft and gentle his voice was when he had spoken…

She’d felt safe, protected, like nothing could touch her as long as Oliver was there.

She wanted that back.

But Oliver was acting like she wasn’t even there.

The hurt that carved its way through her chest was bitter and harsh at the sudden give and take he was throwing at her, fueling the fact that she was still angry at him.

He hadn’t bothered to calmly discuss this with her. No, he had barged into the foundry and told her what was going to happen. Like if he snapped his fingers, she would do anything he asked without question. Did he really not trust her enough to simply talk to her about it?

What did he think she was going to do, call them up and say, ‘Hello, I’m here, come get me?’

It felt like a giant leap backwards from where they had been just a week ago.

Something had change; she didn’t know what it was, and it was leaving her feeling powerless.

“I’m going out,” Oliver said, his voice low and dark enough to rival his voice modulator. He pulled his quiver on, snapping on the rest of his artillery. He grabbed his bow and the bloody manila folder, shoving it into his jacket.

He didn’t spare either of them a glance. 

“Don’t let her go home,” he said and then he was gone.

*

Oliver stayed out until he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

It hadn’t taken long.

He’d already been running on fumes all day to begin with, and the adrenaline burst from his sit down with Alexi, from seeing those damn pictures and hearing Alexi talk about Felicity like he had, and the unexpected rage towards her when he’d seen her - it had been the main thing propelling him on.

Now he was running on the fumes of the fumes he’d started with and he felt like he was going to collapse.

His feet hurt from jumping roofs, his back ached from where a kid trying to steal someone’s car had rammed him with a two-by-four and he hadn’t bothered cleaning out the cuts on his fingers from earlier. They’d finally stopped bleeding when he’d shoved his hand into his glove but the constant use of his bow and climbing up and down buildings had reopened them, the leather sticking to the open wounds making them raw.

Exhaustion pulled at every inch of him, and he was grateful for it; it meant his mind would be quick to follow. And he damn well hoped that was going to happen soon because his body may be numb but the several hours out in the frigid air had done nothing to quell the simmering storm of emotions that continued to grow bigger and heavier in his chest.

It was enough to drive him up the wall. He was pretty sure he had been living there since the minute he’d heard about the clubs and Felicity’s suggestion.

He couldn’t stop thinking about someone invading her personal space, being so close to her that they could smell what type of shampoo she used or see the spatter of freckles on the back of her left shoulder, and nobody had known about it. _He_ hadn’t known about it. He had been so preoccupied lately, with… _everything_ that he had just missed it. The tension he’d been carrying since Alexi’s favor request had wrapped around him tighter and tighter until it was in his every movement, his every breathe, his every thought.

It was nearly midnight when he made it back to the foundry.

Diggle’s car was still there, as was Felicity’s, and he felt a stab of placating peace that this one request of his had been followed. Maybe now she would appreciate the gravity of the situation.

Or not.

Oliver paused at the top of the metal stairs, not sure what he had been expecting. He just wanted to drop, but instead his eyes were glued on the only part of Felicity he could see. He stared at her crossed legs where she sat in her chair, facing the stairs, waiting for him to appear.

Oliver closed his eyes, wincing when his fingers started rubbing against each other, irritating the already irritated cuts on his fingers.

He didn’t move and neither did she.

He knew this was the point where he should go down, apologize for how he had acted, for how overbearing he might have come across, politely tell her to get her ass in his car, and then they could go to the mansion where he had already made the call to double up the security on duty.

He should apologize but the second he heard her slight huff, the thought was gone.

Was she going to fight him on every single damn thing?

“Just get your ass down here, Queen,” Diggle said loudly. “Before I have to come up there and drag you down. I would like to go home at some point tonight.”

Oliver grunted and finally moved, silently, his tired body aching with each forced slow movement.

Diggle sat at the table where he usually made his arrowheads, an array of disassembled guns and cleaning tools set out before him on a towel. He was staring at the stairs with a raised eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and annoyance playing over his face, not stopping his cleaning motions where he was threading a gentle wire brush through one of the barrel's.

Oliver pushed his hood back, setting his bow on a nearby table.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her just yet. He barely had the energy to keep his eyes open, much less go another four rounds with the feisty woman. 

Oliver raised his eyebrows at Diggle, who merely offered him a tight smile, an I-know-you-know-you-were-a-dick-but-we’ll-hash-ours-out-later smile and tilted his head towards Felicity.

Oliver sighed, and when Diggle made an exasperated noise, he finally looked at her.

Her fingers were threaded together and hooked over a knee, her face tight. The leg on top was bouncing rapidly, her shoe an agitated blur of fuchsia.

Oliver noticed she had a large duffle bag next to her and a few smaller ones on top.

His face must have changed when he saw them because she snorted. 

“Don’t worry, Oliver,” she said, the tension in her tone blunt enough to smack him in the face. “I didn’t go home. John got this stuff. Which, let me just say was an awesome thing to think about, the thought of him going through my underwear drawer because Oliver Queen threw a hissy fit.”

Diggle let out a quiet chuckle and Oliver sighed, mentally preparing himself for the argument coming his way.

“Oh,” she continued blithely. “And I’m not going to your house.”

Oliver groaned, also making Diggle chuckle. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Felicity…”

“I’m going to a motel.”

“What? No. That’s ridiculous.”

“Yes. I am,” Felicity said. “Imagine, for one second, how my being in your house would look, Oliver. I already have to deal with enough crap at Queen Consolidated since you ‘promoted’ me to being your EA, and let me tell you, there are a lot of juicy rumors about just what it is my ‘responsibilities’ are as your assistant.” The words had Oliver raising his eyebrows at their implication and she pointed at his face in validation. “Exactly. So how would it look when I suddenly move into your house?”

“Your safety is more important to me than rumors."

She huffed and he tugged his right glove off and stopped with his wounded left. That would need a more delicate hand. Instead, he pulled the zipper to his jacket down.

The folder from earlier was still tucked in there. He wasn't sure exactly why he had grabbed it, but he hadn't wanted them to see just how far the Bratva had gone into their investigations into her. He didn’t want them to associate him with the abject invasion of her privacy. He didn't want her to know that he was ninety-nine percent sure they had cameras in her home, that they’d had to invade her personal space to accomplish that, that they had probably gone through her belongings, scoured through her personal papers, tracked her every move for _weeks_.

That the fact sheets included such information as the brand of milk she drank and the last time her period had been.

The reminder of what he held fired him up again, making him feel more alert, and his voice was full of vehemence as he continued, “I don’t really care how it looks-"

“Well, I do! It’s a horrible idea!” Felicity stood, her heels snapping loudly as she stepped towards him. “Oliver, I get it. You’re freaked. That’s fine. I’m freaked - as well I should be because, hello, it's not every day that the Russian mob is gunning for you, and yes, I might be compartmentalizing this because of how scary it actually is… but stowing me away is not going to make things better.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“That is exactly what you’re doing.”

“Why are you being so calm about this?” Oliver snapped, his voice raspy from exhaustion. Felicity crossed her arms, pursing her lips and he rubbed his eyes, taking a breath. “I just want - no, I _need_ to make sure you’re safe, Felicity. And staying at a motel is the complete opposite of that. I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

“I was fine here with John all night."

"It's Diggle," he replied in exasperation.

Felicity shrugged. "Fine, then I’ll stay with him.”

“You will?” Diggle asked in the background and Oliver’s eyes narrowed, fighting the immediate protective urge to say, ‘Hell no.’

Instead he gritted his teeth. “And how will _that_ look to people?” 

“I don’t really care how that looks. I’m pretty sure it’s better to have rumors flying around that I’m sleeping with my boss’ bodyguard than my actual boss,” Felicity replied with a glib smile.

At that, Diggle groaned, “Oh, please don’t drag me into this like that.” They both looked at him, as if waiting for him to come up with a solution, but he just held his hands up. “I’m Switzerland, people. I don’t want anything to do with this.”

Felicity threw her hands up. “Fine! Fine then, then I’ll… I’ll stay here.”

“Here?” Oliver repeated incredulously.

"Yes, here. It's the safest place in this entire city, and we have had zero compromises on security, and…" Felicity brightened as she processed the thought more. "Yes, I'll stay here."

"No, it's freezing in here. There's no bed."

"Yeah, it's basically one giant dumb drafty room, but I'll take this over the mansion." Oliver opened his mouth and Felicity cut him off. "It was certainly fine enough for you to sleep here last night, wasn't it?" Neither of them noticed Diggle stop cleaning his guns at that and turn to watch them. "If you can do it, I don't see why I can't."

Oliver could only stare at her. He felt like he had been in the same argument, over and over, for the past twenty-four hours straight. He let his head drop, eyes drooping closed, the exhaustion suddenly feeling like a literal weight on his shoulders, slowly but surely shoving him into the ground.

He heard the rustle of Felicity’s skirt as she rearranged herself, crossing her arms, staring at him expectantly.

He relented with a tired sigh. "Fine. But you're not staying here alone."

"Then John can stay."

"Whoa," Diggle said but Oliver was already answering, "Why are you making this so difficult, Felicity?"

"Because apparently your head is living in your ass, that's why," Felicity said.

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?” 

She ignored him, shoving her finger into his chest with hard, abrasive pokes. "You've done nothing but treat me like I'm something you can just pick up and move around at your will. You don't talk to me about anything, you just tell me. You don’t care how I might feel about something or what I'll think about something-"

"Because you don’t seem to really care about your own safety, that's why," Oliver interjected, but she didn't stop.

"You’re acting like you don’t trust me, Oliver."

"Felicity, I do trust you, there's not even a question of that."

"Then please, start acting like it.”

Silence descended on the room. Oliver knew he should say something, but the words wouldn't come out. He knew - on a logical level that seemed to be too far away for him to appreciate - that he should explain why he was acting the way he was. That he was pissed off with the Bratva, with what he had done while working in the organization, the shame and humiliation and grief with what had happened there, that there were parts of him he never wanted anyone to see, especially her, that she was so damn headstrong that she didn't care what happened to her, that he might not be able to stop the clubs from opening, that he might not be able to protect anyone from getting hurt there, that she might get hurt, that…

Felicity waited… but nothing happened.

Her shoulders dropped and Oliver saw the toll this was taking on her. She looked pissed, yes, but also tired. She had bags under her eyes, her makeup was smudged like she’d been fighting tears for the last several hours and she was pallid, like she hadn't been eating.

Oliver's shoulders fell to match her own.

“Really?” she asked him. She moved to touch him before changing her mind, and Oliver felt an overly aware sense of his arm, like she had touched him, and she’d left a ghostly imprint of her touch. “Oliver…”

“I’m done talking about this, Felicity,” he said, so quietly he barely heard it over the hum of her computers. 

They stared at each other, a million and one things flying between them before Oliver looked away.

Felicity let out a heavy breath and turned, grabbing her bags. She didn't spare him or Diggle a glance, heading to the bathroom, the sound of her heels fading away the only thing save for Oliver's shallow breathing as he squeezed his eyes shut.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there.

He thought he felt Diggle pat his shoulder, say something, but when he opened his eyes and looked around, Diggle was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews literally feed my soul and muse. Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'm [dust2dust34](http://dust2dust34.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, please feel free to stop by!


	4. Before you judge me take a look at you, can’t you find something better to do… (90 hours before the gala…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, responding, and kudos-ing (that's a word, right?)!
> 
> Made a new banner for the story, because why not. :)

Felicity made very valiant efforts to force herself to sleep, but sleep evaded her like a slippery worm of injustice.

She was so tired her eyes throbbed in their sockets, but when she closed them, she couldn’t get her mind to hit the pause button, or her heart to slow down; it was pumping way too rapidly, like her body was in perpetual overdrive. From fear, frustration, confusion… from waiting for Oliver to just _talk_ to her…

But he hadn't said a word.

He’d looked at her with those shuttered eyes, face wiped clean of emotion, before looking away, effectively cutting off any hope she might have had that he would just _say something_.

He still hadn't said a word when she'd heard him putting his gear away after she’d finished in the bathroom, as he headed to the shower, going out of his way to avoid her. She’d made more than enough noise when she commandeered the little cot that had appeared one day after he’d gotten back from Lian Yu a few weeks ago - which, considering the way he’d been acting, was like his unsubtle way of saying he may have left the island, but the island hadn’t left him.

It had been quiet for a long time.

Where was he going to sleep? Taking the cot had certainly sounded and felt like a good idea at the time, but now she felt guilty. And uncomfortable. If she was uncomfortable on this thing, where was he, on the cold concrete somewhere?

She shouldn’t care.

Felicity had done a fine job of not thinking since he’d gone out earlier that night. Instead she’d peppered John with question after question, constantly getting a, “I really don’t know, Felicity,” in return. Diggle just looked at her like she was an idiot when she asked if maybe this wasn’t as bad as they were making it out to be, to which she’d thrown at him, “Maybe this isn’t even about me. Maybe this is about Oliver. Or, no! What if it’s about the Arrow? What if they know I work with the Arrow? Did you ever think of that?”

_“You didn’t see the way he reacted,” John replied gravely. He stared at the empty mannequin, seeing a different Oliver than the one out prowling the streets, the mysterious Bratva Oliver she’d only glimpsed in Russia. “I don’t think this is a simple matter of trying to catch the Arrow.”_

_“So then what? What did they say?”_

_“Half the conversation was in Russian, Felicity, I don’t know.”_

_“And he didn’t say anything?”_

_“Are we talking about the same Oliver here? Because last time I checked, he didn’t exactly treat me like his diary.”_

While he had a point about that, it still didn’t explain anything. It didn’t explain why he’d waltzed in, demanding blind obedience, asking her to trust him, to be okay that he wasn’t trusting her back with the full picture. She wanted to trust him. She really did want to sit back and say, “Yes, okay, I understand this is out of my realm, I’ll let you handle this.” She knew if Oliver had a reason to be freaked, she should definitely be freaked. _The Russian Mafia had requested her_ , and that was freaky.

But it wasn’t just about her.

What about the gala? What about the clubs? What about everything _else_ the stupid Bratva were doing? She felt like Oliver was putting blinders on, focusing on the wrong things. She was all for her safety being a concern, but she didn’t rank above the other dozens of girls who very well might get caught in the giant Bratva spider web.

What about them? Did he really expect her to sit this one out, when she could help? She had to do _something_.

Either way, it wasn’t helping that Oliver obviously knew way more than he was letting on, and he wasn’t sharing a darn thing. 

Felicity lifted her hands, imitating Oliver talking as she said, “Here, Felicity, let me lay out in bullet points all that I am thinking.” She switched to herself. “Wow, thanks, Oliver, I now see the entire picture. Here is how I can help.” Back to Oliver. “Great, I’m so glad I shared my thoughts and feelings with you instead of burying them so deep I forget what being a human being is like, this is so nice.”

She sighed, letting her hands drop. She was getting to the loopy parts of early sleep deprivation.

After an hour of trying to see pictures in the steam swirling around the ceiling, laying on the cot she knew Oliver used more often than he went home recently - it smelled like him, which was simultaneously comforting while also reminding her that his way of coping with things was to lay on this uncomfortable thing and _brood_ instead of talking - Felicity got up.

She tugged on the fuzzy green robe Diggle had gotten from her apartment and wrapped it tight around her shoulders, tying it off at the waist as she headed towards her computers.

It was nearing two in the morning, and the symmetry with the morning before wasn't lost on her. Hopefully this time she would be alone though. She’d been too wired earlier when Oliver had been out to concentrate on anything besides the varying ways she could make a voodoo doll of him and stab it with a pen, especially when John had told her in no uncertain terms that she was to stay put while he ran to her apartment for her clothes, saying, “Let’s wait until tomorrow to poke the bear, huh?”

The hours between then and now had calmed her down enough to let her mind start functioning again, and she needed to do some work, because otherwise she was going to go crazy. And not the fun oh-she’s-so-crazy-talking-to-herself kind of crazy, but the kind that led to Medusa hair and scratching at her eyes before they wrapped her up in a straitjacket.

She’d had Diggle and her anger at Oliver as emotional supports before, but now that she’d spent the last two hours thinking way too much as she was prone to… she was getting a little scared.

No, scared was an understatement.

Terrified was more like what she was.

It was hard to wrap her mind around someone putting out a hit on her - is that what they had done, put out a hit on her? It sounded more like a formal request for her presence somewhere. Like a, "Hey, we would like to see you for a moment, please step into our office." Hopefully the Russian mob’s office was in a very public restaurant in a very public square right in the middle of Starling City where nothing bad could happen.

Why her? Why was anyone interested in her, first, and second, why the Russian Mafia? It really just sounded like a soap opera or a C+ movie. Or the Godfather, for god's sake.

But this was real life. And did this stuff really happen? To people like her? Why in the world would anyone care enough about anything she had done? She was just a boring IT girl who happened to secretly work for a billionaire vigilante with a severely stunted ability to talk about his feelings.

Maybe it really wasn’t that much of a secret. Maybe this _was_ about the Arrow. 

There were too many questions and too many non-answers, and she needed to find them. She hated mysteries; they were meant to be solved, and she was smackdab in the middle of a serious doozy.

Whittling it down to something as simple as a “mystery” was comforting. It meant it had boundaries, had answers, had lines of logic she could follow instead of the frighteningly flimsy feeling that had steadily been growing since John had said the words, _“They had a request. For you.”_

Felicity tiptoed into the main foundry space, not sure where Oliver had bunked for the night, when she heard a soft, rhythmic grunting.

She paused, her mind jumping to very wrong places that involved a lot of breathing and grunting, and an embarrassed flush erupted across her face, running down her neck before she stopped herself. Really, the Oliver Queen she knew had more tact than that. What was wrong with her?

She didn't move, didn't breathe, as it continued, echoing randomly with squeaks of flesh on the training mats.

Did the man never sleep? 

Felicity peeked around the corner.

He was doing pushups in the center of the room, and judging by the amount of perspiration and sheen all over him he had been doing them for a while. For a very long while. When he let out an especially heavy breath, sweat sprayed everywhere.

Felicity hesitated, looking back to the cot, wondering if she should just sneak back and worry herself a hole in the stomach instead of risking him noticing she was awake. Normally she loved being around him; there was a comfort level there that she couldn’t explain, but after the way he’d been handling the Bratva thing, the way he’d been treating her… the thought of diving into the _why_ of this entire thing while he was _right there_ made her stomach clench with unease.

This was _Oliver_. She trusted him implicitly, she knew him, and she’d like to think he knew her… but right now, she felt like the space between ‘friendly acquaintances’ and ‘actual friends’ they’d slowly been chipping away at since she joined Team Arrow had just grown back to the size of the Pacific Ocean. 

Oliver suddenly stopped, letting himself drop to the mats with a loud smack, making Felicity jump.

For a second the only sound was the rustle of Oliver’s clothes as he stood before he said, "You can come out, Felicity."

Felicity froze, biting her lip, hesitating - that he was making her hesitate at all was enough reason to make the unease in her stomach double - before stepping out from her hiding place, waving awkwardly.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Silence.

“Has anyone ever told you it’s really creepy when you do that? Not the saying hi part, because I initiated that, but the having freaky bat-sonar-like senses.”

If things had been normal between them, if they hadn’t spent the last day on this weird rope of tension that seemed to be fraying with each hour that passed, she was sure he would have given her one of those half smiles that she used to let herself think he only gave her. 

Now his lips only twitched in acknowledgement.

“Why are you still up?” he asked.

“Probably the same reason you are.”

He looked at her, face stoic and blank, not giving anything away. Despite obviously exerting himself into physical exhaustion, he didn’t look nearly as tired as he had when he’d first come back from his patrol.

It was like he was hiding that from her as well.

Felicity averted her eyes, unwilling to follow that stupid train of thought. She was tired, and emotionally drained, and she was on the cusp of accusing Oliver of being so secretive he didn’t even want her to know when he was tired.

Maybe there was something to counting sheep, she hadn’t tried counting sheep yet.

“I thought I’d do some work, actually,” Felicity said. “You know, on why any mob ever would be interested in me. At all. Ever.” She moved to the computers. “I usually keep pretty good track of anything Felicity Megan Smoak related because I don’t exactly engage in the most… legal of activities, as you know, but hey, it could happen. Not that I’m giving any validity to you accusing me of snooping, because I’m not. I’m talking about other things. Other Felicity things.”

A nervous trill danced through her stomach when he didn’t rise to the bait, or barely move; his eyes tracked her movements as she headed to her desk, making her feel off-balance.

Without any of her self-righteous anger keeping her company, his eyes on her made her feel like a bug under a microscope.

She probably really definitely should have just stayed where she was.

Felicity sat down, bringing her computers to life, the heat of his eyes trained on her like a blowtorch. She shifted, bringing her robe in tighter. She felt naked in it. She would much rather have had the bright blue Doctor Who hoody she had hanging on her closet door, but then again, Diggle had stopped her from going with him.

She hadn’t even been able to go pick out her own clothes.

Felicity paused, staring blankly at her keyboard as she realized she didn’t even know what John had picked out for her.

She had never fathomed a world where John Diggle would be picking out the clothes she wore to work. For so long she’d thought about bringing an extra pair of clothes to the foundry but the thought of getting ready here, showering in the same place where Oliver showered - it had been a little too much.

She really, really wished she hadn’t thought that would be too much.

She also really hoped John had a secret innate sense of fashion.

She knew he’d grabbed shoes, which ones had he picked? And oh god, he’d also picked out bras and panties - it was just as mortifying as the first time she’d realized it. John Diggle had _seen her underwear collection_. Was it normal to be worried that she didn’t have a great underwear collection? That she didn’t have more lace in there? That she had more Superwoman panties than anything sexy? 

“What is it?” Oliver asked softly from behind her, and she jumped; she hadn’t heard him move.

“Nothing,” she replied stringently, her fingers attacking the keyboard. “Just wondering what clothes John picked out for me to wear to work tomorrow and thinking about how he’s the first guy who’s had the honor of going through my underwear drawer.” Her eyes slammed shut. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

He didn’t say anything, and she expected him to go back to his self-abusing exercising, but he didn’t move.

She could practically _hear_ him thinking. 

Felicity caught his nervous finger tic out the corner of her eye, the one he always did when he was highly agitated or worried. She bit her tongue to stop herself from asking if his fingers were his therapist since they were getting more action than her at the moment - because that was appropriate - instead focusing on setting up initial search algorithms geared towards herself.

Once they were underway and another screen was working on a continual search on Starling City-related issues, she moved to the third screen, forcing Oliver to back up as she pulled up her email, randomly picking an update from a blog she followed.

An article about new research into cybernetics popped up. She started reading it, not processing a single word as she ignored him, waiting for a hit on the searches.

“Felicity,” Oliver started, his voice low and laced with trepidation.

“What, Oliver?” she asked, her voice betraying how tired she was as she glanced back at him, eyebrows raised.

He was staring down at his hand where a trio of vicious cuts laced across his fingers.

Felicity gasped and moved without thinking, jumping to her feet, grabbing his hand in one swift movement. She forced his hand to spread open, making him wince as she studied the wounds. They were red and agitated, coated in crusted blood; she could only imagine what kind of dirt and muck and _ick_ he’d been shoving in there with his pushups alone. 

“What happened?”

Oliver closed his fist, stepping away. “It’s nothing.”

“That is not nothing,” Felicity snapped, glaring at him.

She felt the sudden desire to slap him because of the way he’d said it.

It wasn’t _nothing_. 

Felicity hooked her hand in his arm, pulling him over to the med cart. She ignored his exasperated sigh as she yanked open drawers, removing supplies at random.

She didn’t realize her hands were shaking until she held out one of hers for his wounded one. He stared at it before looking at her.

Felicity made a fist. “Too much coffee. Just give me your hand.” He didn’t look convinced and she didn’t care. “Oliver.”

“I’m fine,” he said, but he still put his hand in hers. She hissed on his behalf when she got a closer look at the cuts. 

“Yeah, these look really great,” she replied, her voice hoarse. She started cleaning them out, noticing the way his right hand made a tight fist when she forced his left fingers to extend. She winced with him when his middle finger twitched as she cleaned out the deepest one. “Did you even bother to clean these?”

He gave her an acerbic look.

“Alright then, why didn’t you at least wrap them up?” She dumped the bloody cotton balls on the tray and grabbed some gauze and tape. “I’m pretty sure the last time I checked shoving open wounds on those disgusting mats is like shoving them into a box of bacteria.”

“I clean the mats.”

It was her turn to give him a look.

Oliver still didn’t say anything.

The silence between them grew thick and heavy, filled with everything that was going unsaid, everything the last twenty four hours had been building towards since he’d originally snapped at her. She couldn’t stop herself from yanking harder than necessary on the gauze as she wrapped each finger, making him grimace.

“Sorry,” she said in a clipped voice.

“It’s fine.”

“No, Oliver,” Felicity replied, grabbing the tape and ripping off several pieces in jerky motions. “No, it’s not _fine_.”

His hand hovered between them, wrapped like a pathetic mummy. Blood was already coming through on one of the bandages.

“ _Nothing_ is fine, and that you keep saying it is really pissing me off.” She tried ripping off another piece but the tape stuck together. She yanked harder, but it only twisted more. “Because things are definitely not fine. They haven’t been fine since this Bratva thing started, and you won’t just spit out whatever is making things not fine and…” The tape twisted more and she growled, blinking rapidly when tears of frustration started welling. “Stupid tape!”

Oliver’s hands covered hers, and she stopped, squeezing her eyes shut.

A single, traitorous tear slipped down her cheek.

“Felicity,” he breathed, and she looked up at him. He moved to cup her cheek, and her heart jumped in her throat as his hand hovered over her before he changed his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear it. “There’s so much… that I want to… but I can’t. I _can’t_ , Felicity.” 

One thing Felicity had always prided herself on was her ability to read him, and when she said prided she meant it came in handy at really opportune moments. She had known from the minute he stepped into her office the first day she’d met him that not only was he lying about the laptop, but lying about _everything_. The way he held himself, the way he talked, the way he kept his face pleasant and unassuming - she’d known that that wasn’t _him_ , that wasn’t Oliver, and she’d had nothing to base that on save for the fact that he just looked… off.

The first true moment when she had seen him - her Oliver, as she’d secretly come to think of it - was when he’d let that involuntary smile slip when she’d given him a look after the comment about his coffee shop being in a bad neighborhood.

She didn’t know how she knew, but she did, she always did - she _knew_ him. She knew when he was hiding something, when he was lying, when he was about to collapse, and when he was trying to protect her.

And it was that face he’d been wearing since the first moment she’d mentioned the Bratva, and for a split second, he let the mask drop.

Exhaustion, frustration, anger, fear… all the things he kept under lock and key deep inside, it was all there for her to see. The breadth of the load he carried on his shoulders took her breath her away. He stared at her, willing her to understand - to see it as he saw it, to see it and be okay with it.

He leaned towards her, like he was just looking for someone to help him carry it, and for that quick second, Felicity shoved all her issues to the side; it wasn’t a conscious thought when she moved to catch him, to hold him, to be the thing he could lean on.

Felicity reached up, her fingers brushing against his stubbled cheek, the harsh hair scratching at her fingertips. He closed his eyes, his chest deflating in a deep sigh, and something heavy settled in her chest when he leaned into her touch.

She didn’t feel his hand until it was gripping the edge of her robe, pulling it into a tight fist, and a shiver danced down her spine.

Something was changing.

Something _had_ changed.

She wasn’t sure what it was, if it was because of the Bratva, or because of anything Russia-related, or just because he was finally cracking under the pressure, but something was changing, and Felicity felt a bolt of terror in her chest because maybe _this_ was what was happening - _this_ was what was going to break whatever made them work together so well. This was why things hadn’t been normal between them.

She needed to step back. She needed to put space between them so she could think, but she didn’t. Despite the terror making her limbs feel unsteady, she didn’t move.

Instead, Felicity cupped his cheek, her thumb rubbing the sensitive skin underneath his eye as she whispered, “Oliver, talk to me.”

The sound of her voice broke the spell.

Oliver blinked. He cleared his throat, and the mask slipped back into place.

He let go of her robe, stepping away from her, leaving her feeling cold, just like he had the morning before.

And just like then he barely looked at her.

“Oliver…” Felicity frowned, watching him grab the mangled tape from her numb fingers. He nodded to her computers.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said gruffly before he walked away.

*

Oliver woke to the sounds of screams echoing in his head.

He took a ragged breath, the oxygen covered in razorblades, slicing through him as it slid into his lungs.

The steam wrapping lazily around the rafters of the foundry was nothing like the thin red silk that had draped from the ceilings of the Russian club; the old machinery, sawdust, and wet concrete smelled like heaven compared to the rich copper of blood mixed in with old garbage and sickly sweet incense from the alleyway in Hungary.

Oliver rubbed his hands roughly together, still feeling the slick rush of the warm blood that had had erupted from the woman’s neck, spurting up the length of his arm when Matvei had cut her.

But it hadn’t been the girl he remembered.

It had been Felicity.

Oliver groaned, pulling himself up off the pallet of blankets he’d made since Felicity had the cot. The cold floor had been hell on his overworked muscles, making them coil and knot tighter than they had been when he’d gone to sleep. Rather, when he’d fallen into an exhaustive heap on the floor and closed his eyes for a moment, only to wake up to a nightmare that he really didn’t need to keep seeing.

He shoved his face into his hands, scrubbing his eyes until he saw stars. With a heavy breath, he looked up, and it took a moment to notice the main lights in the foundry were still on. He blinked and stood, glancing at his phone, seeing it was only three in the morning.

Was Felicity still awake?

A stab of regret dug its through him when he remembered the way he’d left her. His cut fingers throbbed in sync with the boulder slowly crushing his chest.

_“Oliver, talk to me.”_

He’d almost done just that. He’d almost let himself be placated by her gentle touch, by the strength she commanded with barely any effort, the comforting warmth emanating from her, into him. But then reality had set in.

Somehow she had become the one person he wanted to confide everything in, but she was the one person he couldn’t. Not about this. 

Oliver glanced at the cot where Felicity should have been laying. It was empty. Ignoring the quick stab of panic as the dream filtered through his head again, Oliver moved to the main floor, the mounting panic easing when he spotted her.

She was slumped across her desk, head pillowed on an outstretched arm; it was unconsciously mimicking an animation of a robotic arm doing curls with a pencil on one of the screens. Her glasses were skewed, bent out of whack from being pressed into her arm, and her hair was frizzy from rubbing against her robe.

Oliver paused for a moment, unwilling to disturb her.

She let out a little snore… and he smiled.

It felt foreign, pulling on his dry lips, but it also felt… good.

_Cleansing._

And selfish.

“Felicity,” he said softly, touching her shoulder. She didn’t budge. He leaned over, shutting down the computers, before going to shut down the main generator. The lights went down except for the emergency lights and the old exit sign hooked to the city grid, casting her in dull green light.

He almost didn’t want to wake her but she already complained enough about her horrible posture from sitting on computers all day and night and right now she looked like a pretzeled raisin, curled in enough to make sure the chair didn’t move while she slept. He cocked his head, wondering how she was comfortable, remembering when he’d first walked up to her doing those weird sitting yoga poses. She’d been wearing the cutest look of concentration as she stretched her back.

He had a very vivid image of that pose because she had been wearing a button-down shirt.

Which was not the point.

Considering the last few days, that simple time seemed like eons ago.

Oliver caught her under the arm, picking her up before the chair rolled away. She stirred, mumbling something about robots before settling against him. Oliver bundled her closer as she burrowed down into her robe, subsequently pressing her face against his chest.

“Oliver…”

His heart stopped, and he looked down, expecting to see her awake but she was still asleep, face relaxed. If there was ever a reason to not tell her anything, it was the way she looked right then: peaceful. And that it was _his_ name she was saying, without the lace of anger or frustration or confusion…

Without the fear and disgust he knew it would be filled with if he told her anything.

She hummed as she took a deep breath and when she let it out, it tickled across his chest.

He made his way to the cot - a thought that still aggravated him; this may be one of the safest places for her, but it wasn’t nearly as much a fortress as the mansion was, or as guarded. Or as comfortable and warm.

The last thing he wanted and the last thing she needed was a damn cold.

Felicity shifted, pushing her face further into his shoulder, her glasses pressing painfully into his collarbone. She let out a little groan, moving to take them off when she realized she was in motion.

She woke up, eyes bleary. “Oliver? What are you doing?”

“I’m just taking you to bed.” She gave him a confused groan. “You fell asleep at your desk. I’m taking you to lay down.”

“Mmkay, bed is good,” she whispered. “I’m tired.” She sighed deeply, pressing her nose to his shoulder. He bit his tongue when her breath caused goose bumps to rise across his skin. “You’re warm.”

“Are you cold?”

“No,” she said, cuddling further into her robe. “But I should be cold, because you’re being cold so I _should_ be cold, and we should be cold together.” He frowned, not following the logic. “I like when you’re warm. I don’t like when you’re being cold.”

He paused for a second, finally understanding. His hands flexed against her, holding her tighter as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes at that, but she wasn’t done. “Your voice is growly.”

He bit his lip to keep a chuckle at bay - how she swung him from a pit of guilt to feeling light as a feather was beyond him.

“Growly?”

“Yep,” she continued, her voice bogged with sleep. “You have lots of different kinds of growly voices. I like this one, when you’re tired.” She let out a little sound. “You get growly. Like a tiger. Like a really warm, sleepy tiger.”

For a quick moment, they were just Felicity and Oliver again, with Felicity saying whatever came to mind, and Oliver being amused and intrigued, wanting to hear what else she came up with. And then she’d get flustered and wave him away, until it happened again an hour later.

It was easier to pretend the Bratva shit didn’t exist when they were like this, when she was just… Felicity. _His Felicity._ Oliver held her a little tighter, choosing not to think about how well she fit in his arms, how easy it was to carry her, to hold her, to let her press her face against him like she was.

It would be so easy to tell her right then. Just tell her. Tell her why. Explain.

But the same shame and fear stopped him, the boulder he’d woken with making itself known again, stealing the air from his lungs.

He wouldn’t be able to stand the way she would look at him. He couldn’t bear the thought of her seeing him differently, any differently than she already did. She knew some of the things he had done, but only some and he wanted to keep it that way. It was selfish as hell, but the light she brought with her into his life… he needed that.

He needed her.

Because if she knew… Everything he had done? Who he had been, who he was trying to forget, who he was trying to be better than?

He would lose her.

When Oliver reached the cot, he gently set her down, her robe falling open, revealing plaid sleep pants and a t-shirt with a dancing coffee cup. She rolled over onto the blanket before he could grab it to cover her. With a ghost of a smile, Oliver reached over and plucked her glasses off. She hummed again, rolling back towards him.

She reached for him, her fingers grazing his wrist before she gripped it lightly.

“Go to sleep, Felicity,” he said softy, setting her glasses down. She scrunched her face at his words. He was reaching for the blanket again when she woke up more.

Felicity stiffened, her head popping up, making the cot bounce slightly in the split second it took her to realize what was happening.

“Oh,” she breathed, blinking sleep from her eyes. She looked up at him, her brow furrowed, like she wasn’t sure what he was doing there before she looked around, remembering where she was. “Oh.”

“You okay?” he asked, unable to keep the smile from his voice. She looked frazzled and cute, wearing that bright green robe, her hair skewed in its ponytail, blinking at the foundry.

She didn’t answer right away, which made the smile slowly drain away.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice laced with sensor. And then she realized she was still holding his wrist. She jerked her hand back like she’d been burned - and Oliver felt like he’d been burned, by something ice cold that burrowed into his chest when she curled her fingers into a tight fist. “Just tired.”

She didn’t look at him as she tugged her robe closed and rolled from him.

Oliver stared at her back, his hand still hovering in the space she’d left it before he let it drop to his side.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, and Felicity’s dismissive, “Goodnight,” sliced through him.

Oliver slowly stepped back.

The air was filled with razorblades again as he watched her curl in on herself, pulling away from him completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews literally feed my soul and muse.


	5. It feeds, it grows, it clouds all that you will know… (81 hours before the gala…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Thank you** for the response, everyone! A lot of you have been theorizing about _why_ the Bratva want Felicity, as well as _who_ in particular... let me just say this: these first few chapters are literally the tip of the iceberg with this story. ;)

Diggle stood at the entrance to Oliver’s office, arms crossed over his chest, watching the table tennis match between Oliver and Felicity.

They were doing a piss-poor job hiding the very obvious discord between them.

Felicity would stop and stare blankly at her tablet, her fingers still typing but in a totally random pattern before her eyes slid over to Oliver, while the big brooding fool sat in his office staring at documents on his desk, his entire attention being expended on his peripheral vision.

When he’d gotten to the foundry that morning, they hadn’t been speaking, barely looking at each other. When Felicity asked him to relay to Oliver that she was going to take her own car that morning, Diggle had been ready to throw his hands, but Oliver had already been rounding the corner before Digg could respond that he wasn’t a marriage counselor and she should tell him herself.

Oliver immediately put the kibosh on her going anywhere by herself, and that was when Diggle knew something was up - instead of biting Oliver’s head off, Felicity had glued her lips together, saying nothing.

The symbiotic wavelength they normally operated on was in tatters. Damn idiots. Well, one idiot to be specific.

He couldn’t stop the smirk when he looked at Oliver, who was holding a pencil, squeezing it rhythmically in his meaty paw. Just when he thought he was getting better with communication, realizing he wasn’t in this alone, he flipped a bitch. Unfortunately Felicity was taking the brunt of that this time.

Oliver’s eyes moved to Felicity for the umpteenth time, worry, guilt and something new painted all over his angsty face.

For a man who lived under a hood, he was being incredibly blatant about his emotional status.

And if Felicity looked tired, Oliver looked like the grim reaper had paid him an early visit.

When Diggle looked back at her, her eyes glazed with lack of sleep and frustration, she was once again very persistently ignoring Oliver.

Felicity groaned under her breath. Her head fell back, face screwed up as she stretched her neck muscles. A faint vibrating noise had her face screwing up, and she glanced at her phone where it laid by her keyboard. She tapped her finger on her phone case before hitting ignore. Diggle watched her roll her eyes, typing out a quick text message before grabbing the pile of folders sitting next to the fine collection of QC mugs she had gathered over the course of the last day and a half.

Diggle sighed.

His eyes switched back to Oliver, who stared blankly at an empty spot on his desk.

It was going to be a long Wednesday.

Oliver saw what was about to happen before he did, and Diggle only knew that because Oliver suddenly did that freakishly still thing he had such a knack for before they both heard the sound of ceramic hitting glass.

Two of Felicity’s coffee mugs fell over, one sloshing hot and the other cold all over her desk.

Felicity yipped as coffee slid everywhere, soaking into papers and folders, sluicing right into her lap. She jumped up, shoving her chair back until it hit the glass window behind her.

“Hot!” she yelled. “Hot coffee!” She wiped at her skirt before looking at the desk in horror as the coffee went right for her tablet. “No, no, no!”

Diggle was already snatching her tablet and phone off the desk, yelling over his shoulder, “Oliver, can you grab some-”

But Oliver wasn’t in his office. He materialized at Felicity’s side, pulling her away from the mess.

He checked her over like she was covered in lighter fluid instead of coffee.

Diggle frowned, holding Felicity’s electronics up, watching the two of them instead of the cream-addled coffee as it ruined paperwork and left Felicity’s collection of chewed red pens in a soaking mess.

Oliver did not give two shits about any of that.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes roving all over her. He shot a quick glance around the office, his muscles tensed like he knew someone had pushed those cups over on purpose and was about to jump from around the corner and take them both out. Felicity made a distressed noise and Oliver’s eyes flew back to her instantly.

Diggle could only stare.

This was way, way above and beyond simple concern for her safety.

“It’s just coffee, Oliver,” Felicity said, her voice shaking in a way that said it definitely was not just coffee, but she still pushed him away with the back of her arms, keeping her coffee’d hands away from him.

Oliver didn’t move.

She huffed in annoyance. “Oliver, back off.”

For a long time, Diggle would be referring to the look on Oliver’s face as his Cone Look - it was the same pathetic look dogs got when you wrapped those plastic cones around their heads. He looked like Felicity had just kicked him when all he’d been doing was bringing her a prize. But judging by the look on her face, it wasn’t a fun prize - it was a dead cat instead of a squeaky toy.

Considering how much of this was his own damn doing, Diggle actually felt bad for him.

A million and one unspoken things flew through the air between the duo, neither backing down, neither of them opening their mouths to say any of it.

Oliver finally blinked, taking a step back.

“Sorry,” he said, the word holding much more weight than just being an overbearing bear about some spilt coffee. Felicity didn’t say anything as she wiped her hands on her stained skirt, avoiding his heavy gaze.

And now Oliver just looked like he needed rescuing. 

“Oliver,” Diggle said, breaking the strained silence, motioning to the desk. “Can you get some towels? I don’t think coffee is the signature needed on some of these contracts.”

Oliver looked at the desk, his brow lined with tension. He gave a short nod.

“Yeah,” he said, sparing Felicity a glance - which she ignored - before heading towards the bathroom in his office.

And like someone pressing a magic button, the tension in the room evaporated the instant he was gone. Felicity’s entire body deflated as she shook out her wet hands, groaning in disgust before looking down at her skirt. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I ruined my skirt,” she said sadly. She leaned further over. “And my shoes. I really liked these shoes.” She waved at Diggle, her lower lip trembling. “You did such a good job picking out my outfit,” Diggle couldn’t stop his chuckle at that, “And then I had to go and ruin it.”

“I just matched colors, Felicity, don’t go worrying about my pride.”

“Then you did even better, because these greens accent very well.” She sniffed, crinkling her nose at the smell of old coffee. “Like there are some greens that look really bad together, and I’m talking opposite spectrums here, but you did really good. You’re a really good random outfit puter-togetherer… or… whatever.”

As she took a shaky breath, Diggle fought the urge to tell her it was just coffee - he knew it wasn’t just the coffee.

“What I’m trying to babble is thank you. Especially since I was talking in my loud voice pretty much the entire time last night.”

“You weren’t that bad.”

“Ha,” Felicity said, finally cracking a pathetic half-smile, but it was a smile. She stepped around the puddle of coffee in front of her. “Thank you for lying to me.”

“I’m not lying,” Digg replied, handing her the tablet and her phone. “This dropped into your lap without warning, and you’re handling it better than most would.”

Felicity snorted, picking up sodden papers and shaking them out. “If you call having nightmares about Cyrillic-shaped men in really giant ushanka hats handling it.” When Diggle raised his eyebrows, she shrugged. “I looked them up. I couldn’t very well just call them giant furry hats - if the Russian mob is after me, I can at least respect their very warm attire.”

Diggle gave her a look. “You’re having nightmares?”

“I have to deal somehow, I guess,” she said wistfully. “Why not employ extreme terror in giant letter format as a coping mechanism?”

Oliver chose that time to come back and Diggle watched the pressure in the room quadruple. Any congeniality Felicity had shown a second before disappeared, her entire demeanor shifting to match Oliver’s stony one. Oliver looked like he’d bitten into a rock judging by the expression on his face and Diggle wondered how much of what Felicity had been saying he’d heard as he studiously avoided looking right at her.

It was a sudden and stark change considering the man’s eyes had been superglued to her since he’d picked them up this morning.

Diggle wondered what he had missed last night. When he’d left they hadn’t been on the best of terms, but they’d at least been talking - in very loud voices, but interacting nonetheless; and that last argument wasn’t enough to have them acting like someone had just told them they were set to be skinned alive at sunset that night.

Oliver handed Felicity a towel and leaned over to help when Diggle stopped him, taking the QC-emblem cloth. Oliver frowned at Diggle’s hand, looking like he wanted to chop it off with a rusty knife before turning to frown at him.

“I got this, man,” Digg said, nodding to Oliver’s office.

It was his nice way of saying, ‘Get the hell out of here so I can fix your dumbass mess.’

Oliver’s face didn’t change, but his eyes darted to Felicity before he nodded and turned away without a word. The soft swoosh of his office door closing behind him was the only sound for a long moment.

Felicity dropped her towel on the coffee puddle and bent over to unhook her shoes.

“So,” Digg started. “Did I miss something last night?”

Felicity hummed noncommittally. Diggle glanced at Oliver and saw he had the pencil back in hand, but at least he was trying to not stare this time. That didn’t mean the idiot’s eyes didn’t flicker to Felicity every few seconds as she stared at her shoes sadly before throwing them away.

“Felicity.” She pushed the towel with her bare foot and pursed her lips, the universal Felicity Smoak sign of having things to say, but literally biting her tongue to stop herself. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” She kept pushing the towel around, her lips turning white from pressing them together so hard.

Diggle waited.

Felicity stopped, paused, and then stomped her foot.

“That’s the problem, _nothing_ happened. I thought it was going to happen, I thought he might explain the insanity inside his annoying skull, that he might tell me why he’s acting so crazed, but no.” She shoved the towel across the floor, spraying coffee rather than soaking it up. “I’m an understanding person; I get things - like, say, the Russian mob suddenly knowing exactly who I am. I _get things_ , John, I get that things happen, that things will always happen, because we are in the business of things happening, very bad things, but he… he just said… nothing, when there is obviously so much something.”

Felicity’s shoulders sagged again, her glasses slipping down her nose. She pushed them back into place.

“He won’t talk to me. He barely looks at me.” Diggle raised an eyebrow at that, glancing at Oliver who was doing the exact opposite of that. Felicity sighed as she stared at the towel on the floor, watching the coffee stain it. “He just said… nothing, John.”

She resumed her cleaning, pushing the towel with her bare foot, eyes focused on the rhythmic movements.

Diggle waited. He noticed her fingers rubbing together, the same nervous tic that Oliver employed, and he almost shook his head. How could they honestly not see what they did to each other?

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Felicity finally said, her foot stopping. She looked at him, eyes plaintive. “I thought part of being a team was talking - opening your mouth, letting words fall out, kind of like word vomit except without the vomit part, and I should know what that’s like because hey,” She pointed at herself, “Babbler. And last week, things were great - well, as great as things can be in Starling City, considering his old girlfriend is back from the dead, and his mom is in jail, and we were actually in Russia… which really just opens up a whole truckload more worms, doesn’t it? Russia. I mean, _Russia_. He knows so much and he’s not…”

She paused, blinking at the floor.

“Being here - being on Team Arrow - I felt like I was doing something, like I had a place, I was part of something… bigger than me, than this. But the last few days?” She looked up at him. “I haven’t felt that.”

“Felicity…” Diggle sighed and glanced back at a stoic Oliver. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with him right now, but I do know one thing: we didn’t work before you joined us.” She made a face. “No, I’m being serious. We didn’t. You’re not just part of this, Felicity, you’re the heart. You are what makes this work. We weren’t complete until you came on board.”

A light sheen of moisture filled her eyes and she blinked quickly to dispel it. “That’s really sweet.”

“I’m only stating the facts.”

“Yeah, well…” Felicity looked at Oliver, who was already looking at her. The look they shared was loaded as she said, “If only everyone was on the same page.”

“He feels the same way, Felicity.”

“I think that’s a point up for discussion right now,” she said with a sardonic smile. “I’m going to go change.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a black skirt and her panda flats. She stared at them for a second before grabbing the coffee-laden towels. The way she stared at the desk and with the angle of the sun behind her, Diggle could see the tax the last few days had taken on her. Her shoulders weren’t as straight, her hair wasn’t as slick, the circles under her eyes were a little more blue than normal.

Felicity grabbed her mugs.

“And more coffee. Always need more coffee.”

She headed for the elevator banks instead of the executive bathroom. He heard the slap of her flats on the ground when she dropped them to slip on before the ding of the elevator prefaced its arrival.

Diggle didn’t waste a second, heading straight into Oliver’s office. The man in question was staring at where Felicity had disappeared before turning to stare at his computer screen, which was off. He wasn’t even pretending to work.

Diggle sat down before his desk and leaned back congenially, clasping his hands together.

Silence reigned, before he said, “I think I need a raise.”

Oliver only furrowed his brow, eyes finally switching to him.

“If I’m going to be playing the go-between with you two now,” he supplied. Oliver stared at him. “So do _you_ want to tell me what happened after I left last night?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Mmhmm. Yeah, I already got that story from Felicity.” Diggle settled back and for a moment, they just looked at each other. “How about what I missed with the Alexi dude? Or maybe what exactly is in that folder that you’ve managed to make disappear.”

If anyone told him Oliver _didn’t_ have the best impersonation of a brick wall, he would feel very comfortable punching that person in the face.

Diggle smirked. “Alright then. What happened in Russia?”

Oliver frowned. “I’m pretty sure you were there.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He was met with silence again.

Diggle counted on his fingers as he spoke, “You speak Russian fluently - very fluently, I might add, and very menacingly.” Oliver raised his eyebrows Diggle’s smile was shallow. “You’ve got serious connections in the Russian mob, serious enough that when you say jump, they ask how high. I already figured there was more to the story that you probably weren’t going to share, and I was okay with that, because that’s your history, it’s your business, but this is different. It’s not just you anymore, Oliver. And now we’re getting hints about what these new clubs are likely going to be rolling in and to say you’ve been on edge about it? Understatement.”

“I have _not_ been on edge.”

The pencil in Oliver’s hand snapped in two.

“Oh yeah, you’re the poster boy for self-control.” Diggle smirked. “Come on, Oliver, you can’t carry all this by yourself.”

Oliver tossed the pencil pieces into the trash with too much force. They ricocheted against the sides before landing with a loud clanking sound on the bottom. He clenched his jaw, opening his mouth to say something when they both heard the sound of the elevators dinging again.

Diggle watched Oliver’s eyes seek her out like a moth to a flame and he didn’t have to turn to see her trek. It was all over Oliver’s face.

Diggle sighed. “I don’t have to tell you that treating her like she’s made of glass isn’t exactly the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

“I’m not doing that,” Oliver retorted, but his voice wavered, like even he didn’t believe that.

“I think she might disagree.”

“She’s just… I won’t let anything happen to her, John, I couldn’t…” Diggle cocked his head, watching him struggle for the words before he gave up with an aggravated noise. “And I can’t very well stop anything from happening to her when she’s jumping into this, half-cocked, not giving a damn that the price we’ll be paying is something I’m _not_ willing to pay.”

“Oliver.” Diggle shook his head in exasperation. “You’re seeing what you want to see. Or you’re seeing something that happened instead of seeing _her_. You’re acting like she’s got a death wish or something.”

“She might as well have a death wish, Diggle!” Oliver growled something profane under his breath before inhaling quickly. “I just want her safe. And now someone… someone wants her, and I don’t know who, or why, and throwing her into a very volatile situation is the exact last thing we should be doing.”

“So what should we be doing then?” Diggle retorted, and he was met with a heavy silence. “Do you have a plan?”

Oliver’s heavy silence sharpened into a glare.

“All I know,” Oliver said darkly. “Is that Felicity has no business in any of those clubs, or at that gala.” He grabbed another pencil, squeezing it until he heard the wood groan under the pressure. He forced himself to drop it. “No business.”

Diggle raised his hands. “Hey, I completely agree. You’re still leaving out a few details though.” Oliver didn’t say a word and Diggle pressed, “Come on, man, give me something here. What happened in Russia?”

“I don’t… it wasn’t… it wasn’t anything good. I’ve seen clubs like these before, I had to… I had to be involved in some of the things that happened with them, and…” Oliver dragged a hand down his face, his calloused palms rasping against his beard. “I’m not a good person, John, and I wasn’t a good person then. The things I had to do, the things I… did without question…” He trailed off, his eyes far off, watching a past only he could see. “But then something changed and…” His eyes refocused on Diggle. “And it didn’t end well.”

“What happened?” Diggle asked softly, without any of the judgment he knew Oliver was trying to wrangle from him.

Oliver shook his head. “Nothing that I want to happen to Felicity.” His voice was soft as he closed his eyes, the remembered horror all over his face for a quick second before he shut it down. When he opened them again, he didn’t see Diggle. He only had eyes for Felicity. “Ever.”

Diggle ignored the fact that he was being an elusive moron again. _Choose your battles, man._

“You should tell her that.” Oliver’s face melted into frustrated confusion. “She can’t read your mind, Oliver, she only sees what you’re doing, not _why_ you’re doing it. She needs to understand. And she needs you to understand that she can handle what you’re going to say.”

“It’s not a simple as a quick conversation, Diggle. I don’t want her to be…” He trailed off, locking his jaw. “I don’t want to scare her.”

“Trust her, Oliver, that’s all you have to do. Tell her the truth.”

“The truth? Like the truth of what they’ll do to her if they get their hands on her? What will happen if I’m not there to stop them?”

“Yes.” Oliver glared at him. “It’s better than shutting her out. Trust me, you’re doing way more damage this way. Now that she knows someone wants her, and that we don’t know why, she’s feeling even more cut off than she did when you were just growling at her about the clubs. At least then she had a leg to stand on. Now she’s running on next to nothing. Talk to her.” 

“I don’t…” He paused, knowing he was just repeating the same argument over and over again. “I don’t want her tainted by this. I just want her safe.”

“And she doesn’t?”

Oliver opened his mouth, and Diggle waved him off before he could retort.

“No. Go.”

*

For a guy who had built his entire vigilante reputation on the ability to become the shadows around him, Oliver Queen was really crappy at being unobvious.

She had seen the Arrow literally melt away right before her eyes to take down a crowd of scary people with a mere whisper. He moved faster than ninety-nine percent of everyone ever and had a freakishly amazing ability when it came to shooting arrows.

If this had been a different day, she might have found this amusing.

Unfortunately, it was this day.

Felicity watched him move around his office. He grabbed a file that was on the coffee table between the sofas and opened it, pretending to read it before dropping it again. He picked up something on his desk, then put it down. Then he picked it up again. He gathered a pile of papers, flipping through them, doing everything he could to not look directly at her.

She wasn’t an idiot. John had left his office, winking at her before saying he was going out for coffee.

He had said something, had obviously given a chastising because now Oliver was acting like he’d been put in timeout.

Despite John’s desire to help, she wasn’t sure there was anything Oliver could say right then.

She was tired, she missed her apartment way more than she ever thought she would, and what she really longed for was a long bubble bath, with a lot of extra bubbles, and an extra-large glass of red wine. The only problem with that is she might drown, since hot water itself had a very lulling effect and she was tired enough to let it lull her, but add to it that she hadn’t had a decent night of sleep in a very long time _and_ alcohol?

That might very well equal someone finding her wrinkled body postmortem, which was not a viable option.

So skip the bath.

But she definitely needed some wine. _Needed_ being the operative word.

It took Oliver ten minutes to finally come out of his office and then he didn’t do anything but stand in his doorway, staring at her.

“If you’re trying to earn the Creeper of the Year award, you already have about a million points in your column by doing just what you are doing right now.” Felicity looked up at him and he averted his eyes, chagrined. “What are you doing?”

He looked incredibly uncomfortable, standing there, watching her.

Her patience ran out at second twenty-two.

“Whatever,” she said. “I don’t care.” She pointedly ignored the way he winced at her words as she stood up, grabbing - very carefully - the folder on the edge of her desk and she walked over to him, holding it out. “This is for your next meeting. Try not to forget their names this time.”

Oliver’s brow twisted in irritation. “Felicity, that’s-” he started, but the sound of the elevator dinging interrupted him.

Felicity felt a little lift in her spirits at the thought of the caramel latte John said he would bring her, but then she heard the click clack of heels - a very, very specific click-clack pattern that could only belong to one person - and those spirits died an icy cold death.

“File this under ways to top off the best day _ever_ ,” she murmured as Isabel Rochev came through the glass doors.

Her eyes skated over Oliver in a way that made Felicity’s skin crawl before settling on her, which definitely made her skin crawl as the brunette’s eyes danced over her with an edge of scorn.

“Having an off day, Ms. Smoak?” Isabel asked, her eyebrows innocently raised.

Felicity blinked, furrowing her brow, before a bucket of embarrassment dumped over her head.

She’d forgotten she was wearing the plain black skirt and flats she kept in her desk as a backup - the flats with the giant panda faces on them no less, although she should be proud of them, they were _cute_ , damn it.

It hadn’t been unobvious that Felicity had started stepping up her dress game when she started getting more involved with Oliver’s day job and night job - you don’t just start working for one of the richest men ever and not at least try. And she _had_ tried this morning, despite having to pick from John Diggle’s wardrobe choices for her.

Really, Isabel should have been the least of Felicity’s concerns. In the grand scheme, her comment was nothing, but it stung much worse than she thought it possibly could have. Her lack of sleep, the stress of fighting with Oliver, being on the outs with each other, Diggle’s kind words making her cry, the freaking _Russian Mafia_ being after her for no reason whatsoever that she could find, feeling like she was in this by herself because Oliver was freezing her out…

It made the fact that she wasn’t wearing her cute black strappy heels anymore a really big deal.

She should have opened her mouth and said something - _anything_ \- but instead Felicity just stared at Isabel, eyes wide, a thick red blush quickly blotching her skin.

Felicity jumped when Oliver slipped up next to her, his warm, calloused hand clasping her elbow. She looked up to find his Oliver Queen soap opera smile in place.

“Isabel. Head into my office, I’ll be right in after I’m done with Ms. Smoak.”

“I’m sure you were having a _very_ titillating conversation, Oliver, but we have the meeting with the investors in fifteen minutes and I need to get you caught up.”

“But you weren’t invited,” Felicity said dumbly, immediately wanting to smack herself in the forehead the minute the words came out.

Isabel cocked her head. “I am aware of that, Ms. Smoak, thank you. But your boss has some slight… focus problems,” she said, smiling as she looked at Oliver. “And I wanted to make sure he was staying on task.” She looked pointedly at Felicity. “So I invited myself since you didn’t feel it was appropriate to share that information in the first place.”

With that, she turned and headed into Oliver’s office.

“Oh,” was all Felicity could say before Oliver pressed her back towards her desk. It had to be a culmination of all the things because she had always been on the receiving end of Isabel’s death glares - this one had seemed a little too potent though.

That wine was sounding better and better with each passing minute.

“Ignore her,” Oliver said, letting his hand rest on her arm. “This won’t take long.”

He looked at her, his eyes betraying the same emotions that she had seen the night before. But instead of being drawn to them this time, she found herself shrinking away.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Yeah, okay, I can’t wait,” Felicity replied, and he dropped his hand. She unconsciously rubbed her elbow where he had touched it, hugging her arm to her chest, and she only noticed she was doing it when his eyes followed her every movement.

She immediately dropped it. 

He frowned, but duty called.

“We’re not done,” was all he said before he left, going into his office. He made a point to shut the door. Felicity watched him walk towards Isabel, pinching her lips when she slid Felicity another look that could only be described as _scathing_.

“If I believed in Hell, I would say this is Hell,” she whispered, watching Oliver place his hand on Isabel’s lower back - which Felicity annoyingly noticed was bare because the woman was wearing a so-no-gorgeous-but-really-gorgeous blouse that had a lacy cut up the center of her back - with a familiarity that could only come from one thing as he guided her into the conference room.

Her chest suddenly felt too tight.

Felicity turned back to her desk, missing Oliver’s quick glance back at her over his shoulder before Isabel pulled him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews literally feed my muse and soul.
> 
> I'm [dust2dust34](http://dust2dust34.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, if you fancy a drop-in!


	6. Pride you took, pride you feel, pride that you felt when you’d kneel… (75 hours before the gala…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this Monday turned into a day that just kept giving and giving, truly living up to its namesake. Alas, this chapter is shorter than the others - I'll try to make up for it with next week's chapter. It was supposed to be longer, but it wasn't working, and I much prefer quality over quantity.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for the amazing response to this story! :)

The meeting with the investors ran way too long, drifting well into the afternoon. It ended on a high note though - QC was starting to turn around, which was positive. And as a way to placate all the investors with one foot out the door, Queen Consolidated was initiating a new computer program for some stock market thing that showed the investors… something or other…

Oliver wasn’t really sure; he’d stopped paying attention about ten minutes in.

He didn’t have enough fingers to count the amount of times he was caught lost in his thoughts, but it had afforded him time to think about what needed to be done, with the new clubs and with Felicity, instead of worrying a hole in his gut over what _might_ happen.

Diggle’s words rolled around in his head, over and over: _“So what should we be doing then? Do you have a plan?”_

No, he didn’t have a plan. They knew next to nothing about the clubs, who was initiating the business, how deep it ran or how deep the hole was supposed to go once the new branch of the Bratva was established in Starling City… and he hadn’t cared. That was the problem. Because the second he saw those photos of Felicity, his entire world had become focused on one thing: making sure nothing happened to her. 

So instead of caring about which numbers went in which column, fundraisers the Queens should consider being involved in, or what Queen Consolidated was doing with whose money, Oliver’s mind raced over the last forty-eight hours.

Or it was trying to. Isabel wasn’t helping.

It had taken a significant amount of self-control to not wipe away the haughty look she wore the entire time. She purposefully called him out on things she knew he didn’t know or abruptly took over when he was talking. Any understanding that might have grown between them in Russia has been completely obliterated when he’d called her the wrong name at the very wrong time.

Swooping in to take the company from him wasn’t enough, now she had to make him look like a fool, despite the fact they were supposed to be partners in running the company.

And she had known exactly what she was doing talking to Felicity the way she had.

The second Oliver had seen her, the instant he saw her eyes zero in on Felicity like a lioness about to attack a gazelle, his stomach had dropped. His first instinct had been to protect Felicity from the predatory gaze, and the second had been to _hope_ that Isabel had a modicum of tact - or at least enough self-pride - to never mention what had transpired between them.

She did, and she’d saved those thorny comments and thinly veiled innuendoes for Oliver alone.

Her parting words when she’d left, “I’m sure your assistant slash IT girl would be more than happy to show you the ropes on the new software, Oliver. I’ll give her a few pointers,” had left a bitter taste in her wake, and then he’d gotten to watch her stop at Felicity’s desk.

He could tell by the way Felicity stiffened, looking in at him with a pinched face, clearly unhappy, that Isabel hadn’t gotten any nicer since she’d first arrived that day.

Oliver sighed, watching Felicity stare at her desk while Isabel left before getting up and heading in.

Oliver stood. “You don’t have to-”

“No, I really do,” Felicity said, her tone prickly. “When the Queen Bee orders it, I guess I get to say, ‘How high?’”

“Felicity-”

“It’ll only take a second, Oliver, and then I’ll be out of here.”

“I was actually going to say that you don’t have to do this right now. It can wait.” Felicity stared at him. “I think we have other more slightly pressing issues to worry about.”

Felicity blinked, and if she hadn’t already been shuttered off from, Oliver watched her shut down completely. He furrowed his brow, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but she shifted away from him. When she moved to sidestep around him, he mirrored her and she narrowed her eyes.

“Move, Oliver.” 

He didn’t.

They stared at each other, neither budging.

Now was the time.

He wanted to tell her everything that he’d thought about over the last several hours, the plans and the considerations and the what if’s. To explain that while he was terrified at the prospect of Felicity volunteering herself, it had nothing on what he’d been feeling since Alexi had announced the “favor” - basically kidnapping Felicity and handing her over to god only knew who - that he needed from Oliver in return for the information on the gala.

And that led to the much more complicated issue of what exactly he was going to do with the intel that someone wanted her, finding out _who_ it was, and what they would do when Alexi reported Oliver’s rather negative response.

Not only did that open up potential complications for finding out about the clubs, but for Oliver himself within the brotherhood.

The Code was the foundation of the Bratva, including maintaining it and putting it above all else, even family. It wasn’t an easy feat to find a reason that ranked higher than the Code, and Oliver had spent the meeting going through the ins and outs of every single avenue laid out before him.

And she was not going to like any of it one bit.

To the Bratva, Felicity was just a commodity. If someone wanted her for something, it was ninety-nine percent likely that they would get what they wanted out of her and then she’d be shuffled off to another branch, another faction; nothing went to waste in the Bratva, especially someone who had as much “vitality” as Felicity had.

And he could never - _would_ never - let that happen to her.

Ever.

But the words kept getting stuck in his throat.

He couldn’t stop imagining her face when he explained _how_ he knew all this, how Anatoly had integrated him into the Bratva, what he’d had to do to rise so quickly, and why he’d left so abruptly. The thought of telling her about that night in the warehouse, the heavy blood-stained ropes swinging from the ceiling, the blood, and the _bodies_ … About how the Brotherhood worked and what he’d have to do, not only to get information about the clubs, but in order to protect her… it left him feeling sick.

He wanted to tell her, he needed to…

But he just stood there.

Again.

“Whatever,” Felicity said tiredly.

She shook her head in dismissal, pushing past him to get to his computer. She immediately brought it to life and with a few clicks she had several windows open, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she accessed the program information that would install the new stock software on his computer where they both knew he would never use it.

Oliver closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands.

Anxiety balled up in his chest, and it only got heavier the longer he didn’t say anything.

He was scared, he _knew_ he was damn scared, and he knew it was stupid.

Foolish.

Selfish.

And yet…

Oliver dropped into his chair with a weary sigh, his head bouncing off the headrest. He watched her work for a minute, the windows moving way too quickly for him to keep up. She paused, tapping her finger on the J key for a second, biting her bottom lip before she was back in action a quick second later.

He watched her, a small smile lifting his lips - she looked so alive right then, in her element, doing what she loved. Her eyes were wide, darting across the screen, already twenty steps ahead of what the computer was doing.

She was so beautiful… so pure, so full of light.

How could he let anything happen to her?

She adjusted her position, angling her hips as she concentrated, bending a knee… and Oliver’s eyes followed her every movement.

He hadn’t seen her wear a plain black skirt in a long time. It was a simple piece of cloth, with simple lines, but it fit her snugly, molded perfectly to her body.

It reminded him of their first few weeks together, before she’d traded it in for patterns and dresses. His eyes drifted down her legs, noticing how long they still were without her signature heels; he smiled when he saw those ridiculous panda-faced shoes. He hadn’t seen those in a while. They were so… _Felicity_. She was so Felicity whether she was wearing a cut up MIT sweatshirt, wearing a perfectly coordinated outfit, or wearing those shoes.

That all that might be broken because of the Bratva - because of _him_ \- was crippling.

Diggle suddenly cleared his throat, jerking Oliver back to reality and he jumped in his chair, his eyes darting to the large man. Diggle raised his eyebrows, the look on his face saying, ‘I hope I’m imagining things because if you are doing what I think you’re doing, I’m going to have to hurt you.’

Oliver’s face erupted in a hot blush, glancing over at Felicity, realizing very quickly what he’d just been caught staring at - his face blushed hotter. He’d been staring at Felicity’s ass. He opened his mouth to explain when Felicity stood up, her eyes on Diggle, and Oliver followed suit.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Diggle said coolly, his eyes on Oliver still, who looked away, before giving Felicity a smile. “Are you guys ready to leave?”

“Almost,” Felicity said, leaning over again.

Diggle’s eyes went right to Oliver, who pinched his lips, suddenly finding the computer screen so much more interesting this time around.

“I have been daydreaming,” Felicity mused, and Oliver’s eyes flew to her. “About this vintage Bordeaux I found that I kept for a very special occasion. And this feels like a very special occasion. And by special I mean I need to wash old coffee off my legs and drink myself into a coma.” She sighed. “But it’s at my apartment. Where I’m not allowed.”

Oliver’s eyes slid to Diggle who was looking at him pointedly.

He still didn’t say anything, and he didn’t have to be looking at Diggle to know he was rolling his eyes. He did migrate closer to her though, like maybe proximity would make his tongue feel less like it was glued to the top of his mouth.

A few more clicks and then Felicity was shutting down the computer.

“There. Done. Let’s-” She turned and ran right into Oliver’s chest with a tiny yelp. “God, Oliver, stop _hovering_!”

“I’m not _hovering_ ,” Oliver replied adamantly, the words coming out harsher than he intended. “I didn’t want-”

They were the final crack in Felicity’s already very cracked dam.

“You’re joking, right?” she asked, her voice bordering on her loud voice as she cut him off. She poked him in the chest. “Because that’s all you’ve been doing, is _hovering_! I can’t breathe without you right there to make sure I’m okay. Newsflash, Oliver, I’m alright. I’m still alright. I’ve been alright. I’m going to be alright in five minutes when you ask for the billionth time and in ten minutes when you’re staring at me, _wondering_ if I’m alright!”

“Would you rather I left you alone?” Oliver snapped irritably, the edge in his voice matching hers. “Let someone take you and shove you into a box and ship you off to god knows where?”

“That’s not even funny to joke about-”

“But that is what will happen, Felicity!”

“No, you _think_ that is what is going to happen!”

“You think this is all sunshine and roses, don’t you? It’s _not_. You think it’ll be as easy as the casino was? That is _nothing_ compared to what this will be. This isn’t a joke, what we’re dealing with.”

“It’s so funny you keep saying ‘we’ like I’m actually involved in any of these decisions, like I know any of this. You don’t think that would have been something to at least _mention_?”

“You _are_ involved, Felicity, and that’s the problem! I don’t want you in this. I don’t want to worry that someone might walk around the corner and snatch you up, or that you’ll go out for coffee and not come back!”

“So what, am I supposed to just sit here, playing the dutiful EA, sleeping in a freezing factory at night, always keeping my mouth shut?”

“Yes!”

Felicity’s eyes widened incredulously as Diggle whispered, “Oh, that wasn’t smart.” 

Oliver shook his head. “No, I meant no, of course not, I didn’t-”

“I know what you meant, _Mr. Queen_ ,” Felicity replied. She gave him a chilly smile. “I’ll just go back to my desk now.”

“Felicity.” Oliver grabbed for her arm but she dodged him with a glare.

“Until you pull your head out of your ass, Oliver, I’m done. _Done_. I can’t do this, with you shoving me into the corner all of a sudden. I can’t…” She waved her hands, at a loss of words, which was more a sign than anything Oliver could have asked for. “I can’t do this.” She headed towards her desk, saying to Diggle, “I need to get some air.”

Oliver went after her. “Felicity, wait-” but the sound of his cellphone cut him off.

He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes in aggravation.

“Don’t go,” he growled at her, yanking his phone out, looking at the screen. His aggravation spiked when he saw who was calling. “It’s Alexi.”

“Who?” Felicity asked emphatically, moving back towards his desk, and Diggle came up behind her, touching her shoulder as he took up a position behind her protectively. Oliver’s eyes watched Diggle’s hand for a long second, a mixture of gratitude and irritation making his chest feel tight - it should be _him_ protecting her.

“It’s his Bratva connection,” Digg supplied.

When Oliver still didn’t answer the second ring, Diggle gave him a quizzical look, but Oliver’s eyes were still on Felicity. This was the call he’d been waiting for, the one that would tell him if the brotherhood was going to cooperate, was going to respect his… _claim_.

His stomach suddenly felt very sour as his own words about what would happen to her if she left without protection ringing through his head.

“Oh, yet another thing I’m not in the loop about,” Felicity said, her sarcasm wrenching him back to the moment.

Oliver leveled her with a hard glare that she readily returned before answering the phone. “Alexi.”

“I have the information you requested.”

Oliver frowned at the easy acquiescence, alarm bells going off. He twisted the words every which way he could in his mind, trying to cover every angle that Alexi could be working from. He’d been expecting more - demands, ultimatums, threats - not simple compliance, especially considering his uneasy friendship - and the word friendship was a loose, loose term in this instance - with Alexi Leonov.

This was too easy.

Oliver blinked, his mind racing - it would be a cold day in hell when anyone in the Bratva just handed over information without an ulterior motive, without a Catch-22, without _something_.

He didn’t like this.

He caught Diggle’s eye, who was raising an eyebrow, and Oliver put the phone on speaker, setting it down on his desk.

“And?” Oliver asked, unable to completely hide the uneasy edge in his voice.

“The gala is to take place at the Central City art museum. I will send you information about the charity…” The way he said ‘charity’ made Oliver’s throat tighten. “And its benefits via a text message. The man organizing the new ventures here in Starling City is named Vasily Ikashev. He will be attending to peruse new merchandise.”

_New merchandise._

“Very good,” Oliver replied, his voice taut. He paused, eyes flickering to Felicity as he switched to Russian. _“A kak na shet dewushki? Zapros bil otmenen?”_

_And what of the girl? Has the request been rescinded?_

“Ah yes,” Alexi replied. Oliver gritted his teeth when he continued in English. “Your woman.” Felicity made a face. “That issue is off the table.”

The relief that swept through him was tangible, and for a split second, it shoved right past the common sense telling him there was much, much more to this.

Oliver’s chest deflated, his eyes slipping shut as his shoulders dropped. He honestly hadn’t known what to expect after the words _‘she’s mine’_ had come out of his mouth; he held a position of power, yes, and he had Anatoly on his speed dial, but that was purely materialistic when it came to how the brotherhood operated. At the end of the day, everyone owed loyalty to the same Code, it didn’t matter who you knew.

That still didn’t change the fact that someone was interested in Felicity, but at least now he had confirmation that his stance was being respected; that Felicity was, for all intents and purposes, safe.

Oliver glanced at her, and caught her staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“That being said,” Alexi said, drawing Oliver’s attention back to his phone. “Her presence has still been requested.”

Felicity barely kept the squeak she made under wraps as Oliver’s entire world fixated on the phone.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his voice deadly calm. 

“She has been identified as a valuable commodity, Mr. Queen…” The derision in his voice when he said his name was blatant. “One you now claim as your own. You must bring her to the gala, as proof.”

“Claim?” Felicity repeated in a scandalous whisper and Diggle’s hand fell on her shoulder - in part to tell her to keep it down, as well as to keep her from leaping across the desk.

Oliver’s eyes flew back to her for a second before zeroing in on the phone. “Proof of what, exactly?”

“To assure the interested parties that she is ‘off limits,’ as you say.”

Which meant whoever was looking for Felicity was going to be there.

The relief he’d been swimming in a second ago died an ugly death at Alexi’s words, instantly replaced with a dark rage that had him leaning over the desk, white-knuckling the edge. Sharp sparks of pain shot through his left arm from the cut on his fingers as he said, his tone brooking no argument, _“Eto budet ne wozmozno. Ja ne beru moich dewusheck na takie evenementi. Wi ponimaete pochemu ja ne beru etoto risk.”_

_That will not be possible. I do not bring my girls to such events. You understand why I do not take that risk._

“That is too bad, Mr. Queen,” Alexi replied glibly. “I have been informed that that is what must be done to honor my giving you the information on the gala. You understand.” All false joviality left his voice as he said, “Bring her.”

He hung up before Oliver could say anything further.

“Damn it!” Oliver growled, slamming his hands on the desk, making both Felicity and the phone jump.

“Oliver, we can’t let that happen.”

“I am aware of that, Diggle.” Oliver hit the desk again before shoving his face into his hands as he let out a heavy breath. “I know that.”

“Um, guys,” Felicity started but Oliver’s phone giving off three short buzzes cut her off. It was Alexi’s promised text message, listing everything he needed to know about the fucking gala. 

“Damn it,” he breathed, snatching the phone into a tight grip. “I can’t not go, they’re expecting me, and if this Ikashev will be there… I need to get information on those clubs.” He squeezed his phone tightly, his eyes drilling holes into a wall over Felicity’s head. “As well as find out whoever’s _requested_ Felicity.”

“Them being there means they have zero intentions of letting this go,” Diggle said. Oliver rolled his eyes, already very well aware what Alexi’s request meant, but Diggle misread it, taking a step towards him, “Oliver, this has trap written all over it.”

Oliver shot him an incensed look. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, John.”

“I’m just saying, if-”

“Guys!”

“What?” Oliver snapped, turning hard eyes on Felicity.

“Seems you like both left out some pretty important details.” Oliver frowned, his muscles tightening in anticipation at the determination on her face. He was already shaking his head as she crossed her arms calmly, giving Oliver a level look. “What does that mean, you ‘claim’ me?”

Oliver groaned at her amiable tone, tension yanking harder on his muscles. He stared at her, knowing she wasn’t going to back down but damn well wishing she would. She merely lifted her eyebrows. 

Oliver scrubbed his hands over his head, trying to find the right words to describe just what it was he had done.

“I did it for your protection. As long as I can…” Oliver waved his hands helplessly, searching for words that had nothing to do with what he was trying to describe. “Assert and assure that you… belong to me, nobody can touch you. In theory.”

“In theory?” Diggle repeated, but neither of them acknowledged him as Felicity said, “So that’s even better.”

“Felicity…” Oliver’s stomach clenched uncomfortably; he bit the tip of his tongue, meeting her gaze again.

Felicity was one of the strongest women he had ever known. She bulldozed her way into his life without even trying, so blatantly proud of who she was and what she had been through. She was brilliant, dogmatic, and she could hold her own just as easily at a blackjack table in an underground mob casino as she could discussing those hobbit movies with some random gangly kid when she’d forced Oliver to go inside that tech store with her.

It was one of the dozens of reasons why she had become so important to him… but it was also one of his strongest reasons why he didn’t want her involved.

Felicity actually looked _intrigued_ , which was making his stomach sink.

“What?” Oliver finally asked wearily.

“Going to the gala.”

“Damn it, Felicity,” he said, dragging out her name, ending it with a growl.

“No, Oliver,” she said, steel in her voice. “You practically laid out the red carpet for me to go, and now I won’t have to go in any other questionable and terrifying manner. You said you wanted to keep an eye on me… so what better way?”

“Then by going into the very last place you should be? Are you serious?”

“I am very serious.”

She was very serious. Too serious. She was talking to him like she was describing the way traffic lights worked, and he didn’t buy it for a second.

“No,” he said.

“Oliver-”

“No, Felicity, you have no idea what… what I will have to _do_ to…” He closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he said, “To make sure it’s clear that you are off limits. What others will have to _see_ me doing - you are not going.”

“Yes. I am.” 

“No.”

“Oliver,” she said pointedly. “Either I’m going with you, or I’m going as a guest, _without_ your protection.” She stared at him, daring him to say anything else. “I’m pretty sure my face is all the invitation I’ll need, so choose one.”

Felicity didn’t give him a second to respond.

She turned, heading back to her desk, patting Diggle on the shoulder as she passed, saying, “I just need to do a few things, Digg, and then we’ll be ready to go.”

Silence hung in the air with morbid finality as they both watched her leave.

Diggle turned back to him. “Damn it, Oliver, she cannot go. You’d be basically wrapping a bow around her and handing her over.”

Oliver cursed under his breath.

When Felicity turned to look at him from her desk, she gave him a bright, almost mocking smile - no, not mocking, _challenging_ \- and he had to turn away before he did something insane.

Like flip his entire goddamn desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews literally feed my soul and muse.


	7. Reaching out for something you’ve got to feel… (74 hours before the gala…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the awesome responses to this story! I have to cover a few bases in this chapter, please bear with me. :)

The ride back to the foundry was… tense.

Oliver had disappeared into stoic mode - he hadn’t spoken to her unless one counted the really intense glare he’d thrown at her before they stepped onto the elevator - John’s jaw was doing the ticking thing, and her eyes were starting to get scratchy. She blinked rapidly, but it only made them drier, which made the headache she’d been sporting since the night before start to throb again.

And to top it all off, she still smelled like stale coffee with a hint of Oliver’s woodsy soap from her shower that morning - which was _not_ that endearing on a woman, if anyone asked her opinion.

A few weeks ago, the thought of using Oliver’s soap and shampoo - he didn’t have conditioner, she could only imagine their looks if she suggested they stop off at her place for something that didn’t make her hair feel like sandpaper - would have left her feeling a little more breathless than she was right now. So at least there was one thing going her way: she was annoyed enough not to let the fact that she was using Oliver’s soap - which saw places she really refused to think about - get to her. In fact, right now, it was only reminding her of the last few days, which were the opposite of anything happy where Oliver was concerned.

For the first time that day, she couldn’t wait to get to the foundry, because she could not wait to take a shower. Why hadn’t she thought to install an actual bathtub when she’d had that bathroom put in? What was her past-self thinking? Well, her past-self was actually pretty smart to assume that nobody would need to take an actual _bath_ in the foundry. Even if there was a tub, would she actually be alright sitting completely naked with only bubbles to cover her in the _foundry_ , with Oliver and Diggle standing only a couple feet away?

She snorted under her breath.

She caught Oliver glancing over at her from the corner of her eye, and she ignored him.

The tiny flit of joy she’d felt when she’d informed him - _informed him_ , because that was exactly what she had done, she had informed him, not suggested or requested; if he was going to inform her about how things were going to be, he deserved a taste of his own medicine - that he had basically given her the ticket to the gala was slowly melting into a budding ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach as the entire conversation caught up with her.

She tapped her fingers against her knee rapidly.

Felicity wasn’t stupid. She had a pretty good idea about the realities and the dangers of human trafficking, and that was before the research she had done on her own…

Oliver’s words kept ringing in her head.

_“Would you rather I left you alone? Let someone take you and shove you into a box and ship you off to god knows where?”_

Felicity shivered. It wasn’t just the ‘what if’ that had lingered in the air after his words, it was the certainty in his voice catching up with her… the mere possibility of someone taking her, of her disappearing before anyone could help her?

It was completely terrifying. 

Oliver’s assertion that doing something as innocuous as getting coffee could lead to being stuffed into a box with other girls… their combined fright thick enough to taste, nobody knowing where they were going, or what would happen when they got there; clinging to each other as they thought about the people they were leaving behind, the loved ones they would never see again, wondering if maybe - _just maybe_ \- they would be the ones who were lucky enough to be found before…

Before…

The images she’d seen in the police reports she’d dug up flashed through mind’s eye - the boxes that had been used, the bloody scratches on the inside, the broken nails littering the bottoms from all the clawing… and then the bodies…

Felicity took a sharp breath, closing her eyes.

But sitting back and doing nothing about it, the possibility of someone else taking her place when she could have done something to help?

While no less terrifying, it was equally unacceptable.

And that Oliver was the one asking her to do that?

Even _more_ unacceptable.

Felicity’s phone jumped to life in her pocket and she jumped right along with it, closing her eyes when she realized a tiny, “Eep,” had slipped out. She pulled it from her pocket, not needing to see who was calling to know who it was.

Her mother’s overly eager smile flashed at her. Felicity’s earlier text - _‘Not a good time to talk. Huge project at work. I’ll call you this weekend. Love you.’_ \- had obviously gotten her nowhere, although to be honest, Felicity wasn’t sure her mother knew how to operate a phone past hitting the green and red buttons.

Hitting ignore, Felicity slid her phone back into her pocket. The last time she’d called this many times was to tell her that her middle school boyfriend had been around to ask for her and one time to inform her that her psychic had predicated Felicity would be drinking too much red wine one night.

She looked over in time to see Oliver glancing at her phone before his eyes found hers, and she lifted her eyebrows in question to his silent question.

Displeasure immediately colored his face and he looked away again. Felicity resumed the rapid drumbeat she had been conducting on her knee, only stopping when she hit a sticky spot from the coffee. Rubbing her fingers in disgust, Felicity kept her gaze directed on the city slowly moving by as they made their way into the Glades. Oliver shifted next to her, like he wanted nothing more than to get up and move, do something, and it was her turn to shoot him an irritated glance.

He met her eyes again for a split second before stilling, looking out his own window again.

They were back to not talking, and Felicity was almost willing to let it go this time. As irrational as it seemed, she felt like she had the upper hand, and it felt good. It wasn’t a healthy kind of good, or a smart kind of good, or any kind of good really, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

She was going to the gala.

At least her original plan - her very good original plan - was about sixty-seven percent less dangerous than the current one. Because her plan had included having the Arrow standing outside with an actual scary arrow pointed at anyone who did anything untoward… and while Oliver was scary in his own right, it seemed a little less… reassuring that they would be going together.

_Together._

She really hadn’t thought this through.

Felicity took a deep breath, thinking about what he would have to do, the way he would have to treat her, if she attended as his… date? Is that what it would be? He’d sounded _horrified_ at the prospect, which was sort of freaking her out, because she wasn’t sure if he was horrified that he’d have to bring her at all, or that there would have to be… more. But what kind of more?

She wanted to ask, but his idea of sharing details about anything was staring at her until she stopped asking, which wasn’t helpful because her brain - an amazing tool on any other day that ended in y - was slowly morphing into a horrifying black hole of what _could_ happen.

Oliver had claimed her.

_Claimed her._

He had used her name and the word ‘claim’ in the same sentence at some point before all of this had blown up in her face.

She wasn’t sure if her heart was hammering away at her chest plate because it was the only way the Bratva would leave her alone, or because she was thinking about what exactly those words entailed. 

The creepy Russian guy had insinuated she belonged to Oliver, and because he’d claimed her, he now needed to show her off… like a _couch_ ; no, like a piece of meat, something to be paraded around and ogled. 

So, less date and more… what? Thing?

_“No, Felicity, you have no idea what… what I will have to do to… to make sure it’s clear that you are off limits. What others will have to see me doing - you are not going.”_

Felicity shivered, sparing him a quick glance. His face was set in stone as he glowered at the passing cityscape, his lips curled in a permanent scowl. The way Alexi had said it made it sound like they were doing Oliver a favor by agreeing to this, like they were letting him bring a… party favor.

Felicity next shiver was sharper, making her shoulders jerk. That sounded ominous, and that wasn’t even counting the sporadic bursts of nerves going off in her chest at the thought of _belonging_ to Oliver in any way, shape or form.

No wonder he was upset.

Would he have to touch her? Felicity looked at his hands. Like, a lot of touching? Or… kiss her - no way, that was too much, right? Maybe _pet_ her? Did one pet couches? Oliver didn’t seem like someone who _petted_. No, that was a lie; he had always struck her as the kind of guy that was more hands-on than hands-off. He could say a hundred and four things with his eyes alone…

Imagine what the man could do with his _hands_.

What was she even thinking?

Maybe this was a defense mechanism.

Instead of focusing on what would happen at the gala, what she would be seeing, how she would be looked at, how she would have to act… she was wondering how many callouses his right hand had compared to his left. What each of the tiny scars on his knuckles and fingers were from.

Whether she’d feel them if he did touch her, the way she had in The Dream.

Felicity averted her eyes, groaning inwardly. That stupid, awful, surround-sound, high-definition, completely-aware-of-every-single-thing-ever dream…

If it had only been a wet dream, she would have been dandy, because most people probably had wet dreams about Oliver Queen, but that hadn’t been all. She could still hear - _hear_ as in _perfectly remember_ ; it was more of a snapshot in her mind of Oliver’s face pressed into her neck - oh god, she needed to stop thinking about this - as he whispered sweet endearments, brushing his stubble against her ear, holding her against him, _cuddling_ … His hands had rested over her chest-al region, but not in a sexy way, in a… _different_ way.

She’d dreamt about taking the time to count the scars on his fingers - thirty-seven in all, according to her dream consciousness - and asking him where each came from, and he’d told her… he’d opened up to her, before he’d asked about her scars.

She’d dreamt about _snuggling_.

She’d dreamt about _pillow talk with Oliver_.

For a long time after that she was far too aware of the way her fingers twitched when he touched her shoulder, or how her stomach got really hot when he gave her that little Oliver smile, or how she wanted to show him the way she saw him - as a hero, someone saving the city and its people…

But she’d stowed it away as quickly as possible because he was off limits. He was beyond off limits, not just because of how they spent their time, but because she knew he didn't reciprocate those feelings. She had a crush, it was as simple as that, and it was mostly based on the fact that he walked around shirtless most of the time.

Oh yes, this was definitely a defense mechanism. It was easier to think about The Dream, something that wasn't real, than… real stuff. Because the idea of being in such close proximity to him, having to do… real _stuff_ , was not good.

Oliver might have to touch her with _those hands_.

Her stomach clenched at the thought, her skin feeling too hot.

She needed to get it together.

Like right now.

Felicity took a breath.

She was a couch. She would have to be a couch at the gala. So, she would have to be _complacent_. Easy enough.

She wondered what Oliver would be like in Bratva-mode, if he even had a Bratva-mode. She was still fuzzy on the ‘how Oliver is involved with the Russian mob at all’ information, but he’d have to a mob mode, right? Any kind of mob was nothing to mess around with; he couldn’t just be Oliver Queen in there.

If he was anything similar to how he acted when he put the hood on, well… 

Then worrying about his hands on top of him acting like a domineering, growly Oliver was just…

Felicity’s body tightened at the thought, for an entirely different reason than it had thinking about anything mob-related a moment ago, and Felicity whispered, “Oh my god,” under her breath, pulling her jacket in tighter, wanting to pinch herself because she should not find the idea of Oliver in Bratva Mode as _attractive_ as she was in that moment.

Right, like she hadn’t before - she was really taking this defense mechanism thing to another level, wasn’t she?

“What is it?” Oliver asked and Felicity whipped her head around, eyes widening.

“What?” She shook her head quickly. “I didn’t say anything.”

He frowned at her for a heavy tense second before he licked his lips. “Felicity, if this is about Saturday-”

The tiny high she’d been riding since they left QC took a strict, terrifying dive straight into the ground.

“Oliver, stop,” Felicity interrupted, holding her hand up. “I was not thinking about the gala. Well, I was thinking about the gala, but I wasn’t thinking about _the gala_." His eyes narrowed at her, waiting for elaboration and her mouth went on without her permission, "I was just… thinking, about the way you reacted when you said you’d have to do _stuff_.” She waved at his hands where they sat on his knees. “Which made me think about… _stuff_ , and hands; _your_ hands to be specific, and your scars… Not in a bad way, because there’s nothing bad about scars, especially yours, they’re… you, they make you you, and…”

Her eyes trailed up to his again, and his look of barely-restrained agitation froze the flow of words.

Oliver just stared at her, and it took the sound of Diggle’s quiet snort from the front for her to realize what she’d just said to him.

"Not that your hands are a deal-breaker. If anything, they’re kind of a deal-sealer… which is a wildly inappropriate thing to say, because I haven’t spent a weird amount of time thinking about your hands or…” She closed her eyes, silently counting backwards from five. “I know your hands aren’t-"

“Felicity…” Oliver let out huffed chuckle that was the opposite of amused as he made tight fists. “I cannot… _stress enough_ how little of a joke this is.”

Felicity paused. “I’m not _trying_ to joke, Oliver.”

“Really? Because you could’ve fooled me.”

Felicity flinched, hurt slicing through her chest. “Oliver…”

“No. You’re not… you’re treating this entire thing like it’s nothing, but it’s not. It’s not _nothing_ , Felicity, not where you’re concerned.”

“I am aware of that, thank you. You’re talking to the one person who cares about her own safety more than anyone in the car.” Oliver snorted. “You think I don’t care about my own safety?” 

“I think you want to go the gala to prove a point,” Oliver retorted. “This isn’t a game, this isn’t a normal job, there’s absolutely nothing about this that is normal, and… and you’re not going, it’s as simple as that.” 

“You really should have thought about that before you _claimed_ me.” Oliver’s jaw snapped shut, and he clenched his teeth as he turned a hard glare on her. “No, you don’t get to look at me like that, Oliver. You can’t swoop in with all the answers according to Oliver Queen.”

“I don’t have all the answers,” Oliver replied starkly, and Felicity shook her head in exasperation. They both swayed with the car as they pulled into the back parking lot of Verdant.

“Okay then,” Felicity snapped, “The whole ‘assume everything is the way I see it’ thing is getting really old. You’re acting like I _want_ something bad to happen to me, Oliver, which is the farthest thing from the truth.”

“Then why don’t you start acting like it,” Oliver retorted.

The car barely pulled to a stop before he had his door open and he was gone without another word, stalking towards the club.

Felicity watched him go, barely feeling John slip the car into park and shut it off.

Oliver disappeared inside the warehouse, slamming the door shut behind him, echoing the emotional storm growing in her chest as his words grew so big in the silence she felt like they were suffocating her.

_“Then why don’t you start acting like it.”_

“You want me to go in there and beat him up for you?” Diggle asked from the front seat and Felicity gave him a short laugh, more out of surprise than anything.

Felicity swallowed down the burn in the back of her throat. “As awesome as that sounds, I don’t think it’d make much of a difference.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he said, his tone holding so much more than a simple acquiescence as they got out of the car, heading towards the club, but he didn’t say anything else.

“That’s it? Really?” Felicity asked him. “No lecture? No ‘Felicity, you’re being twelve shades of stupid right now’.” Diggle smirked, not looking at her. “No ‘you blew right past irrational and you’re headed straight for insanity, Felicity’? I’m not gonna lie, I expected it from you more than him.” 

“Oh trust me, I want to say a lot of things,” Diggle said, “Like yes, you are being reckless and stupid, you are playing with fire; that you’re in way of your head for reasons that are as thin as tissue paper…” They reached the door, but Diggle paused before opening it, leveling her with a steady look and she felt like he was indeed seeing right through her. “You know, when I first met Oliver, I never thought I’d ever find someone else who was as thickheaded as he can be; as obstinate.”

Felicity blinked, not sure how to take that.

“I know anything I say right now won’t change your mind.” He sighed and turned, punching in the code for the door. “But for the record, I think you’re both being idiots. The picture is too big, and you’re both focusing on different things, and you won’t talk about it.”

Felicity stared at his back, listening to the beeping keypad, the sound of the lock sliding open, before Diggle motioned for her to walk through it.

She didn’t move, staring at the dark entryway.

“You guys think I don’t know what I’m signing on for,” she said softly and Diggle cocked his head at her. “I know I don’t do the ‘act first, ask questions later’ thing these days. Like… ever. But this is…”

She looked at him, letting him see how helpless the entire thing was making her feel. Whatever he saw in her face had him letting the door fall shut again, and she watched it slowly close, unable to escape the thought that the steel door was very much like Oliver, shutting her out, throwing the lock in place and throwing the key away.

Felicity sighed. “Part of it is because I can’t sit on the sidelines while other people might get hurt, but… it’s also… I can’t stand that he’s just… _shutting down_.”

“He wants you safe, Felicity. I know he has an ass-backwards way of doing it, but…”

“And I know that’s what he’s doing, and I get it. It’s a point that I’ve gotten very well the last few days. What I don’t get is… _why_.” Diggle furrowed his brow. “Not why he wants to protect me, I’m pretty sure he’d be freaking out just as much if someone wanted to kidnap you…” Felicity missed Diggle’s subtle sarcastic eyebrow raise at that. “But… more _why_ this has him so on edge.”

“He’s freaked. And I can’t lie, it’s got me freaked too; anything mob-related isn’t good, especially when it hits home like this.”

Diggle typed in the code to the alley entrance again, opening the door for her and Felicity grabbed his arm, stopping him before they made it too far into the foundry.

“But that’s just it, John, he’s acting like he’s alone, when he’s not.” She waved in Oliver’s general direction. “He didn’t come back to take seventy steps backwards. I know Tommy dying hit him really hard, and having to come back to his mom in jail and on trial for murder, the Glades falling apart because of Merlyn’s machine and everyone blaming his entire family for that, someone trying to steal the company from him, and on top of that the Russian mob is moving in, and…” She paused. “Okay, so he might have a lot on his plate. But still, it’s all the more reason for him to not have to do it all alone.”

“You know who’d probably benefit more from hearing this?”

“Oh, I’ve tried,” Felicity said. “It’s annoyingly similar to holding a conversation with a brick wall. He’s still very ‘Oliver’s way, or the Arrow highway.’ And considering a large part of this entire thing kind of involves me, I’m the last person he seems to want to talk to.”

“Keep trying,” Diggle said, gripping her shoulder reassuringly. “Even if you have to hit him over the head with something, keep trying.” She finally cracked a smile. “I want to talk to both of you anyway. I think we need to do a refresher course on your training.”

Felicity’s eyes widened. “Oh?”

The thought of moving - of action, of something proactive and having a plan for something that was far more in her control than anything else at the moment - sent a flood of adrenaline surging through her veins. Felicity could count on one hand the amount of times she actually wanted to punch someone, and these last few days was starting to count as one of those times.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen this Saturday, if we’re even going in or not,” Diggle said. “But if we are, I’ll be damned your stubborn ass isn’t going in there at least slightly more prepared than it was yesterday.”

Felicity pinched her lips to stop herself from saying, ‘So you agree with me going, huh?’

Instead, she said, “I think that is a smart idea.”

Diggle scoffed, rolling his eyes, seeing right through her words. “I’m sure you do.”

The sound of something heavy hitting another something heavy floated up to them, followed by what sounded like a growled grunt.

Felicity looked down the stairs. “He might not think so.” 

*

Something was vibrating.

Felicity felt a whisper of awareness in the back of her mind, but she didn’t move.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, or when the training staffs had stopped colliding with each other, or how long she’d been sitting with her head propped on her hand, staring at a plume of steam, her mind a thousand miles away.

The ride with Oliver had been tense.

Everything since had just made it all… tenser.

Felicity had taken her shower, missing every inch of her bathtub with each passing minute, before getting out and missing every inch of her apartment even more when she saw Diggle had only thought to grab actual pajamas and work clothes. Nothing loungy, so she’d slipped on her black skirt again, a black t-shirt, and had come out to find Oliver and Diggle pounding each other into the ground - literally.

One of the staffs had slammed into the mats and Diggle had gasped, “Damn it, Oliver, you’re gonna take my head off here.”

Oliver hadn’t responded, instead glancing at her as she’d made her way to her computers, rolling his head to crack his neck. His eyes had caught hers, and her heart had stopped at the dark swirl of emotions there before he’d looked away, shutting her out again.

Diggle called her stubborn; next to Oliver’s black kettle, she was a slightly dusty gray pot. 

The vibrating again.

“Felicity!”

“What?” she said, Oliver’s voice carving through the fog in her head, making her jump. She spun her chair around to see him standing next to her, wearing a shirt again, and holding her phone. A mixture of concern and aggravation battled for dominance on his face before he settled on concern. She blinked up at him before looking at her phone where he held it out to her. “Was it ringing?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s _been_ ringing.” He wiggled the phone for her to take. “Your mom.”

“Oh,” Felicity replied. She took it, but didn’t look at the screen. “Thanks.” She set it down and turned back to her computers, noticing that they had had a chance to do well over a half hour’s-worth of searches. She frowned, barely remembering looking away from the screen, much less an entire thirty minutes slipping by.

It took her a second to realize that Oliver hadn’t moved and when she looked back at him, he was frowning.

“What?” she asked, agitation making the word come out in a snippy jerk.

“She was calling you earlier,” he said and she looked at him with a, ‘And your point is…?’ He nodded to her phone. “You’re not going to call her back?”

“No. It’s probably nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Felicity slid him an irritated look. “Well, that’s because you don’t know my mother. The last time she called me this many times in a row, it was because a psychic told her I was taking a ‘red bath.’ The only thing I could come up with was a wine reference, like maybe the psychic was telling her I had a drinking problem. Which, for the record, I do not. Although I know that’s what people with drinking problems usually say, but I think someone asking me if I’m taking a red bath would be more related to The Shining than anything red wine-ish… and I don’t live by elevators full of blood, so…”

She turned back to her computer screens.

Oliver still didn’t move.

“Was there something else?” she asked, her tone bordering on testy as she spun to face him again.

He gave her a loaded look, pinching his lips before nodding over his shoulder. His words were clipped as he said, “Diggle had an idea.”

Felicity narrowed her eyes. “Which you obviously don’t like judging by the pinchy thing your eyes are doing.”

Oliver stared at her. “My eyes are not pinchy.”

“They are right now.” He inhaled quickly, shoving the air out in a harsh breath as he turned away from her. She got up, looking at Diggle behind him. “What’s up?”

“Training,” Diggle replied.

“Oh. Training. Right.”

Her eyes flew to Oliver whose face had melted into a stoic passivity.

“I think it is seventeen pounds of stupid going to the gala - _at all_ ,” Diggle said, directing the comment at Felicity and then Oliver, before looking at her again. “Either way this goes down, I want you prepared.”

Despite herself, her eyes snapped back to Oliver. He stood to the side, his jaw clenched so hard she could practically hear his teeth grinding as he glared holes into Diggle’s forehead.

She could see his thoughts stamped all over his face though: he thought John was encouraging her.

“Training, huh,” Felicity said loudly, and Oliver’s eyes slid back to her as she looked back at Diggle. She lifted her hands, wiggling her fists at him, very aware that the false cheer in her voice was probably irritating. “Like… fisticuffs?”

Diggle chuckled. “Let’s save that for a less life or death situation. No, this will be the basic offensive and defensive maneuvers, like what we did before. Enough to get you out of a tight spot.”

“If I remember correctly, you mostly just tossed me around like I was a ragdoll.” 

“Time for that ragdoll to put me on my ass then.”

“This ragdoll walked away with lots of bruises, which are not that easy to cover up, I’ll have you know.”

He chuckled. “I’ll try to take it easy this time.” 

“You should show me that…” Felicity started, moving her arms. “Disarm move again.” A thought struck her and she paused. “Will I be carrying a weapon? Not a gun. Guns are… no. But like one of those handy little purse knives that folds up and looks like a credit card. No, that sort of has disaster written all over it, doesn’t it? What if I tripped while trying to open it and I impaled myself? I don’t think that’s a good story, being impaled by a credit card knife. Although I highly doubt that has the ability to really ‘impale’ anything.”

“No,” Oliver answered before Diggle could. “No weapons.”

Felicity raised her eyebrows at him, biting her tongue before she said, “It sounds like you’re actually agreeing with the gala plan.”

Oliver shot her a sharp look. “I am definitely not… but it’s not a terrible idea for you to start training. In general,” he added quickly. “I don’t even know if we’re going to the gala.”

“You mean you don’t know if _you’re_ going to the gala.”

Oliver closed his eyes. “Felicity…”

She turned to Diggle, ignoring the tired look Oliver gave her, and forced a smile to her lips. “When do we start? Now, right now?”

“We can tonight, if you’re up for it,” Diggle replied.

She didn’t dare look at Oliver.

She would need to change - while she would need to go and find a dress that would equal at least a full year’s salary before Saturday, she knew that whatever she found would be gown-like, and by that she meant she couldn’t very well start training in her black pencil skirt and panda flats - at least with the gown she’d have some leg room to move with. Maybe she should train in heels, although she’d probably crack her head open before she even got to go to the gala.

So pencil skirt and flats needed to go.

She paused when she realized what that meant.

“What is it?” Oliver asked and her eyes strayed to him, but understanding already lit his face as his eyes danced over her clinically. “You need workout clothes.”

She nodded. “Yep,” her lips popping the ‘p’ loud enough that it echoed.

Oliver closed his eyes and rubbed them with his cut hand. The wounds were still uncovered - she wondered if he’d even kept the dressing she’d put on them - and open to whatever disgusting germ-infested holes he could find. If it was possible, they looked even worse than yesterday. 

“Fine,” he said, checking his watch. “It’s dark enough to suit up-”

“Uh, no,” Felicity interrupted with a humorless smile, a flame of ire lighting up her chest that he immediately _assumed_ he was going - alone. “No, I’ll go. Because I’m an adult, last time I checked, and I don’t need yet another man traipsing through my stuff.”

“Absolutely not,” Oliver said. Neither noticed Diggle rolling his eyes, tilting his head back as if preparing for the onslaught. “Just tell me where the clothes are. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

Felicity snorted. “No.”

“Would you rather I tried to find them myself?” Oliver asked, and she didn’t like the dark sarcasm dripping from every word one bit. 

“I’m already going to the gala, Oliver,” she said. Her phone start ringing _again_ and she huffed at it. “What could possibly happen if I went into my apartment to get my own clothes?”

Oliver inhaled quickly, shaking his head. He held up a hand, like he wanted to point at her and say, ‘Bad girl,’ before the Felicity’s phone stopped ringing abruptly.

They both glanced back at it as it gave three quick successive vibrations that alerted her to a text message.

“Oliver-”

And then it started ringing again.

“Oh my god, mom,” Felicity breathed, walking - alright, maybe stomping was a more accurate way to describe the way she made her way to her phone and snatched it up, answering it with a loud, “Mom?”

“Oh, Felicity, finally! Why haven’t you been picking up your phone?” 

Felicity closed her eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing her forehead as she turned away from Oliver’s intense gaze. “I’ve just been really… busy. Listen, now isn’t a great time-”

“I’ve been calling you all day though.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry.” She waved a hand, walking in a tight circle and immediately regretting it when she looked up and saw Oliver’s eyes still on her, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, making his naked arms and shoulders look huge. It was doing nothing to make him look less fearsome as he stared at her like he was just waiting for her to get off the phone so he could continue to berate her. She rolled her eyes, turning away again. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all. You’re okay, right? Everything’s alright?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. It’s just been busy around here. With… work,” she finished.

“Oh good, good, keeping busy is good.”

“Yeah.” Felicity waited for more, but Donna remained silent. “Are _you_ okay, mom? You’ve been calling enough times.”

“Yes, honey, I’m sorry. I just… I’m so happy to hear your voice, that’s all.” She took a deep breath from the other side of the line. “You’d tell me though, right, if things weren’t okay?”

Now that she was paying attention, Felicity could hear a fine tremble in Donna’s voice.

She sounded… nervous.

Felicity tensed, a thin thread of dread seeping into her stomach, a million and one scenarios running through her head at Donna’s odd question. She more felt than saw Oliver step closer to her and she glanced at him, all the animosity melting away as she unconsciously stepped closer.

He frowned, his hand reaching out to touch her elbow before he changed his mind, but he did move closer, his eyes watching her face closely.

“Mom, is everything okay? Nothing weird’s been happening or-”

“Oh no, it’s fine, it’s fine, I’m fine. I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all, nothing to worry about.”

Donna Smoak always pulled out the constant ‘that’s all’ talk when she was uncomfortable, or upset, and hearing the words for the third time was starting to put Felicity on edge.

“Mom-”

“Well, there is one thing, but…”

“What? What is it?”

“It’s silly, it’s just… I was just…”

“Mom, spit it out, what’s wrong?”

“You haven’t gotten any… odd calls, have you?” Ice filled Felicity’s stomach at that. “From anyone with a…” Donna let out a nervous laugh that she stopped abruptly. The ice _churned_. “Oh, this is just silly…”

The word ‘silly’ came out sounding weird and heavy, like Donna was forcing the joviality to hide the real emotion underneath her words.

“Mom.”

Donna sighed. “You haven’t… met any Russians recently, have you?”

Felicity’s heart dropped.

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews literally feed my soul and muse.


	8. Open mind for a different view, and nothing else matters… (72 hours before the gala…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much for the continued support of this story - the wonderful comments, the kudos, the favorites, the sweet messages on Tumblr, the absolutely amazing fic recs, the tweets on Twitter... it all makes my world so much brighter, and I appreciate it so much! I apologize it took me so long to get back into it - I got sucked into the world of ficlets. They're addicting.
> 
> Second, this wouldn't be here without Margaret's (teawhovian/TeaWithLemon) guidance and help! She's wise, snarky, so much smarter than me, and the best cheerleader ever. She's become my sounding board (and oh man, she's so patient with me) as much as she cleans up my writing messes (I might also have an addiction to semicolons). She's amazing, and I'm so lucky to have her in my corner with this fic. Send her chocolate and booze because this chapter put up a fight, and I dragged her along with me the entire way - to give you an idea, the original draft of this was about 6K words... the new one is almost 13K. It was like battling a word dragon.
> 
> Third, I'm sorry to say there will no longer an update schedule on this fic. I've started too many projects to guarantee one anymore, but I really, really doubt we'll go _months_ without an update again!
> 
> I hope you guys like it, please let me know what you think, and thank you again for the continued support!

_“Mom, spit it out, what’s wrong?”_

_“You haven’t gotten any… odd calls, have you? From anyone with a… Oh, this is just silly, but… You haven’t… met any Russians recently, have you?”_

The words swirled through her head in slow motion. Felicity blinked, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard. 

_You haven’t met any Russians recently, have you?_

They slowly bled together until there was nothing left but static. All the aggravation that had been systematically replacing every inch of her blood at Oliver telling her she wasn’t going to her own damn apartment was suddenly gone; it flushed out of her system like it had never been there, replaced with a swift kick of fear.

Her mother was asking her about Russians.

Meeting Russians. 

_Russians._

Was someone… there? Had someone contacted her? Was she hurt? Had they taken her? Where was she? How was she calling her? Was it the Bratva? 

A thousand and one scenarios raced through her head, trying to find a possible connection, anything that made sense.

It didn’t make sense.

“What?” Felicity asked, the word coming out barely loud enough for her to hear. She tried to take a breath, but her lungs weren’t working as her mind spun the violent web of possibilities tighter and tighter until she couldn’t concentrate on just _one_ \- one that made sense, one that fit, one that didn’t seem so completely off base.

“I know it’s a weird question, Felicity, but…”

It _was_ a weird question, a very, very weird one, because… because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Someone in the Russian mob wanted her… _her_ , Felicity, not… but now her mother was calling her, asking about Russians, and… Did they know about her mother? 

Felicity took a tremulous breath as the room titled, feeling like she was sinking before the sensation became something much more urgent, like a giant tidal wave crashing on top of her, suffocating her.

Her chest was suddenly way too tight.

Felicity had been doing an amazing job of stowing the entire situation in very neat boxes. It was easier to think that way, cleaner, because otherwise she might start falling apart, because when someone in a mob wanted a person, it was usually because they wanted them dead.

_Dead._

For some reason, that hadn’t seemed like such a big deal just ten minutes ago.

“Felicity.”

_Oliver._

He dipped his head down to catch her eye and she slowly looked up at him - all the anger and frustration he’d been directing at her was gone. His brow furrowed with concern - _for her_ \- and he frowned when her eyes finally met his, like he didn’t like what he saw.

What did he see? Her freaking out? Because she was freaking out.

“What is it?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. 

“I… I don’t know,” she breathed. Her voice sounded far away, disconnected…

_Russians._

“Hey. Felicity, look at me,” Oliver whispered, breaking through the haze. She blinked, refocusing on him again, but the boxes were disappearing; her boxes keeping everything separate were disappearing, falling apart. The tiny niggle of panic she’d been doing such a darn good job of keeping in its designated place - her designated ‘Bratva’ box, a box that was now starting to peel open like a rotten banana - was getting too big; it was too much.

Those thousand and one scenarios felt all too real all of a sudden, and it wasn’t just her she was seeing anymore, but Donna too - the pictures she’d seen when she’d gone looking, all the dead bodies, the mutilations, the scratches on the boxes from the girls trying to escape, their broken nails littering the bottoms, lodged in the cracks, the dried blood…

Oh god, what if they took her mom? What if they did that to her, because of Felicity? What if they already had her?

“Felicity.” Oliver grabbed her wrist, his warm calloused fingers gripping her tightly, and it snapped her back into her body.

Felicity inhaled quickly, twisting her hand to grasp him as she instinctively stepped closer, forcing his hand to slide up her arm. The tightness in her chest slowly loosened as he gripped her even tighter, grounding her; the sensation that she was going to float away faded as Oliver let her step into the protective realm of his body. She took a breath, and another, knowing with a bone-deep certainty that no matter what happened nothing would happen to her as long as he was there.

_He was there._

“What is it?” Oliver asked. Felicity opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She shook her head, not even knowing where to start. She was suddenly very aware of her bloodless fingers aching where she gripped him and she forced herself to loosen her hold on him, but he only held her tighter. “Felicity?”

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him, pointing to the phone. “My mom.”

“What about her?” he asked, the worry creasing his brows. It made Felicity’s heart skip a beat… and it distracted her. His distress for her was a living thing, all directed at her because she’d gone and gotten herself a not-so-friendly admirer in the Russian mob. 

_You haven’t met any Russians recently, have you?_

She couldn’t tell him. 

The thought was instantaneous, whipping through her head, barely giving herself a chance to fully comprehend it. She couldn’t tell him, not this, because this, this had to be a mistake, a coincidence… _something_ that wasn’t anything near what… anything else was too insane to contemplate.

She couldn’t tell him.

Her mind started to gain more traction. The wheels in her head starting to turn again, spitting out questions for her mother… questions she couldn’t ask in front of Oliver.

She couldn’t tell him, not until she knew more, not until she _knew_ that this was something. He was already worried enough about her, about the entire Bratva thing; she’d never seen him as angry as he had been the last few days, as strung out, as on edge, as exhausted.

_Russians._

The word no longer held the terrifying weight it had a second ago. Felicity looked where they held each other, at his warm hand on her arm, so reassuring and strong; he’d never let anything happen to her, _she knew that_ , and she knew he’d do the same for Donna, even though he knew next to nothing about her, and had never met her.

Felicity looked back up at him where he waited for her to explain, his face soft with concern, waiting for her to explain. Oliver squeezed her arm gently, repeating her name, coaxing her to speak… but she didn’t; she couldn’t. 

It wasn’t rational, it wasn’t smart, but she couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t worry him for _nothing_ , not on top of everything he was already going through… not until she knew more.

“Uh…” Felicity licked her lips, watching his eyes search hers. His hand was so warm, such a sharp contrast to her ice cold skin.

Oliver said her name again just as Donna started speaking.

“Felicity?” she asked on the other end of the phone, and Felicity’s eyes snapped shut, effectively severing her connection with Oliver. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” Felicity replied, her voice coming out surprisingly strong. “I’m sorry, I just, uh… What’d you say?”

“I asked if you’d-”

_You haven’t met any Russians recently, have you?_

“Oh no, I heard that,” Felicity said, cutting her off, overly aware that Oliver was _right there_. Her eyes found his again, for a split second, taking strength from the overwhelming urge to protect him from what Donna was saying. She just… couldn’t let him hear it. “Loud and clear. Very… loud and clear.” Felicity swallowed, unwittingly siphoning more strength from his grasp, ignoring the cold irony in that as she asked in a steady voice, “Why would you ask me that?”

“Oh, it’s…”

Felicity waited. The longer her mother didn’t say anything, the more the fear that Oliver had somehow magically made disappear a second ago started leaking back in.

Was she really in trouble? Was it actually the Bratva, was there someone there, should she tell Oliver, what if…

Donna finally sighed, and then she laughed. Felicity frowned - she was one hundred percent sure the laugh was supposed to come out nonchalant, but it only sounded _shrill_. Still. She was _laughing_.

“It’s nothing,” Donna said, and Felicity could hear the tinkle of her mother’s earrings as she shook her head. 

“Nothing?” Felicity repeated. 

She was lying.

Oliver frowned, lifting his eyebrows in question. Felicity squeezed his arm, giving him a smile - one she hoped didn’t look as fragile as it felt - before letting him go. He held onto her for a second longer, and she could see all over his face he wanted to know what was going on, but whatever he saw on hers must have reassured him because he gave her a little nod and stepped back, releasing her.

Felicity watched him as he backed away, giving her the requested space - he trusted her to tell him if something was wrong, if she needed him; he knew she would… it was everything she’d been looking for in him since the word ‘Bratva’ had come up between them.

And she knew the instant he knew what Donna was asking her about it would disappear just as quickly. 

“Yes, it’s nothing, I’m just being overdramatic, that’s all,” Donna continued, and Felicity blinked. 

“That’s a… pretty specific sort of _nothing_ , mom.” She took a deliberate step away from him, switching the phone to her other ear. Oliver didn’t move, his eyes still steady on her, and she wondered how the hell she was going to get her mom to explain what she was talking about with him _right there_. “Why’d you ask me about that specific sort of nothing?”

Oliver raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking slightly as Donna chuckled, sounding much more like herself.

“Oh gosh, I’ve missed talking to you. I’d forgotten how you ask questions like that.”

Felicity barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “Memory lane later, mom.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Felicity, I just… I… I met some myself, that’s all. At the Lounge. And they said they had friends in Starling City, and so my first thought was of you, of course, and-”

“And you thought you’d call to ask me about…” _Russians_ … Felicity bit her tongue to keep the word from sliding out; a tiny streak of pride filled her chest that the panic niggle stayed put this time. See? She could think the word and she was fine - this was _nothing_. “That? Specifically _that_? Why that?”

Donna gave her an exasperated sigh. “Well, alright, fine, I’ve been worried.”

“What?”

“I’ve been worried, Felicity. I keep hearing all these horror stories about what’s happening in Starling City, especially since those earthquakes a few months ago, and I know you live close to those Glades, or whatever they’re called, and that crazy man flying around, shooting arrows at everyone…” Felicity’s eyes slid back to Oliver at that. He was still watching her. “And-” 

“And you thought leading with _that_ was the best way to ask if I was doing alright?” 

“I was worried, okay? You don’t call me anymore,” Donna said, her tone taking a turn into stern and Felicity let out a heavy breath. “And when I do call you, you avoid me. Or send a text saying, ‘Hi, can’t talk,’ knowing full well that me and texting don’t mesh.”

“I just haven’t had time to talk. I’ve been… busy.”

Oliver’s stance softened at the all too familiar tone - she knew he was well-versed in the world of having to vaguely explain himself to his mother - and he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging. He scrubbed his face before he fell back a few steps, away from her, turning to face Diggle.

“You know, Felicity, there’s being busy, and then there’s avoiding.”

Felicity groaned under her breath, but bit her tongue, knowing anything she said would push her mother further.

Some things never changed. Felicity clenched her jaw, unwilling to break the heavy silence that suddenly filled the line. This was why she didn’t talk to her mother, this right here. They’d never seen eye to eye, and it’d only gotten worse as Felicity got older; when she’d told her she was going to Boston for school, the fall into utter disrepair had started. Their calls dissolved into shallow conversations, ones they both could definitely do without ninety-nine percent of the time, or ended in harsh words that had neither of them talking to the other for months.

The familiar brand of annoyance streaking through Felicity’s chest felt aggravatingly good. If Donna was berating her like this, it made the thought of Russians and her mother in the same sentence seem much less terrifying; a lot less terrifying.

This was not a scared Donna telling her she needed to pick up her phone; this was a normal Donna.

But still…

Russians? Russians in Las Vegas wasn’t a rare thing - everyone touched down there… _but still_.

Her mother sighed. “I didn’t call to argue.”

“No, you didn’t,” Felicity agreed with an unnecessary level of severity and Donna huffed on the other end. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… snap. But, mom, why… hang on.”

Felicity glanced at Oliver and Diggle where they stood, both of them watching her, and she pointed at her phone, rolling her eyes, before pointing back at the servers. Diggle raised an eyebrow as Oliver gave her a short nod, and she turned, walking away. The sound of her flats padding on the floor was the only sound for a moment as neither of the two men moved. She glanced back long enough to catch Oliver’s eyes on her before she disappeared into the mini server-maze she'd created all those months ago, when she'd first started working with him, when it had physically pained her seeing the pathetically rudimentary design of his system.

Even if they followed her, the hum coming off the servers would help them not hear a darn thing. 

She turned her attention back to her phone, hearing something that sounded an awful lot like a semi-truck horn in the background. 

“Mom, I need to know why you’re asking me that. Specifically. Are you okay, is everything alright?” 

“Of course,” Donna instantly replied, responding to Felicity’s tone shift. “Everything’s fine, it was just a question.”

“Mom-”

“It’s not as big a deal as you’re making it. Can’t a mother just call her daughter, concerned about her safety? Honestly, Felicity, that’s all this is.”

Felicity paused, the same certainty for a moment ago coming back - Donna was lying. Why was she lying? Felicity could perfectly imagine the false smile she always got on her face, the peculiar sparkle in her eyes, the way her head tilted; she was a horrible liar, Donna Smoak, which was why her low-cut dresses got her so far in her line of work. But Felicity knew her. She didn’t need to _see_ her to know that she was lying about something, but what? 

Felicity’s stomach tightened with unease, the placating feeling she’d been swimming in evaporating. Her arm burned where Oliver had held it.

What the hell was doing on?

“You know, baby girl,” Donna said. “You’re starting to sound an awful lot like your father these days.” The word hit Felicity like a hot fist to the gut. “Almost every single bone in that man’s body was a paranoid one.”

“My… father?”

They didn’t talk about Corey Smoak, at all, ever. The only time they had talked about him was for the first three days after he’d left them, when Felicity had finally asked, _“When is daddy coming home?”_ Donna’s eyes had filled with tears, her lower lip trembling before she smiled - the same false smile - as she said, _“I’m not sure, baby. Hopefully soon.”_

He never did, and that was the last time Felicity ever brought him up.

_“Almost every single bone in that man’s body was a paranoid one.”_

Felicity furrowed her brow. That didn’t sound like the man she knew. Over-confident maybe, over-zealous, but not paranoid… Maybe this was only another notch in the column of how very little she knew about him. Or maybe her mother was just using this as a way to distract her from the very real question she’d called her about. 

She didn’t sound like she was in trouble, she didn’t sound distressed or like she was playing a game of Russian Roulette - the heat in her gut turned into a chilling ice. Why would her brain think of something like that, now of all times?

“Not… I’m sorry,” Donna said, her voice softer; she was back to the truth. “I didn’t mean to bring your dad up. I just meant it’s a silly question, that’s all.”

“Right,” Felicity replied weakly, doubt coating her tone. “It seems like lots of silly questions are going around today.”

Donna sighed. “You don’t believe me.”

“No,” Felicity said, shaking her head. “I don’t. Mom, the last time we talked, you spent fifteen minutes describing a shoe sale you found, and now-”

“Honey, I’m not calling to freak you out. I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I wanted.” She huffed, the sound of her bracelets jingling. “Can’t I just call because every other day there’s news about gangs and murders and other horrible things right outside your doorstep?”

“No, mom, you _can_ call, but you don’t blow up my phone. And you ask, ‘Hey, Felicity, how are you?’ instead of leading the conversation wondering if I’ve met any _Russians_ , that’s all I’m-”

A sharp inhale cut her off, and Felicity’s heart stopped. 

She looked back over her shoulder.

Oliver stood right behind her, half-dressed to go out, his green leather jacket hanging limply in one hand, his other frozen where he’d been reaching out to touch her shoulder. Felicity spun the rest of the way, pinching her lips as shock, fear and anger all flashed over his face… 

A dark shadow suddenly fell over his features as he processed what he’d just heard. 

Numbing trepidation flooded her chest.

They stared at each other, nobody moving.

“What?” he finally said, his voice deceivingly soft, and it snapped her back to the moment.

Felicity took a quick breath, taking a step towards him, shaking her head as she said, “Oliver, it’s not-” 

“Felicity…” he hissed, and she froze as he slowly shook his head at whatever she was going to say, knowing it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, what he needed to hear. Gone was the gentle concern from earlier - the trust she’d so been so badly wanting to see, the warmth when he’d dropped every pretense when he’d thought something was wrong with her mom… and in its place was something else entirely, a tense harshness she’d never seen before.

Oliver drew his shoulders in tight, his muscles growing taut, his jaw clenching, accenting the sudden stark lines on his face.

He stared at her, waiting. 

“I…” she started, shaking her head, saying the first thing that came to mind, “It’s really not what you think.”

She instantly regretted it when his eyes darkened in a way she’d never seen before; they shined back at her, making her stomach hollow out, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt like she was looking at a stranger.

His face was blank - _empty_.

She didn’t know this Oliver.

“It’s not what I think?” he repeated slowly, his voice so low it made her shiver. He took a step back - _away_ from her - slowly, methodically, and she instinctively went after him, whispering, “Oliver, wait.” 

She grabbed for his hand, but he was too fast; he moved before she could touch him. 

She didn’t even _see_ him move.

“Just finish your call,” he said simply. 

He didn’t move, and she didn’t speak. 

Her hand hovered between them, her palm burning with the awareness of his blunt avoidance as he just looked at her, looked at her as someone she didn’t _know_ … and then, for a split second, he let the mask slip. It was a startling contrast. The violent roll of emotions flashed over his face, like a series of cracks in the strong façade that was Oliver Queen before he caught himself.

But it was enough to send a painfully sharp shiver down her back.

“Oliver…” 

Without another word, he turned, leaving her staring after him until he disappeared.

Felicity vaguely heard Donna’s tinny voice through the phone, but she ignored it; instead, she heard the soft rumble of Diggle asking him what was wrong, and then the sharp ping of his jacket on metal when he set it down.

There was a second of silence, where nothing happened, and she took a quick step to follow him when Oliver suddenly slammed his fist on the table, so hard a collection of plastic bottles toppled, making her jump. Diggle’s loud, “Oliver, what the hell, man?” sounded before he did it again, even harder this time, and then she heard the bottles being swept off the table, scattering across the foundry floor.

Felicity closed her eyes, listening to Diggle as he said, “Hey, calm the hell down. What happened?”

Felicity opened her eyes in time to see two bottles rolling towards her hiding space in the servers and she didn’t wait to hear his answer. She backed up until she ran into one of the boxes, seeing nothing but Oliver’s expressionless eyes. He’d never - _never_ \- looked at her like that before. They’d been fathomless, lacking anything resembling the Oliver she knew; she didn’t know that man. That thought alone left her _shaken_. It was a different sort of fear than earlier, different, not as all-encompassing… but this one went deeper.

He’d looked at her like… god, she didn’t even know. 

Like he didn’t know her; like she didn’t know him.

Felicity took a tremulous breath as that hit her, letting her head fall back against the box with a dull thud.

Her heart was racing, and not at his show of violence. 

She was trying to _protect him_ , she wasn’t trying to push him away. She didn’t want to worry him about _nothing_ , she didn’t want to add more worry to his plate than there already was, and this was so, so much nothing, it wasn’t even a something on any radar anywhere. 

The realm of possibility was so small, and it kept getting smaller the more Donna talked like everything was just… _normal_. 

Felicity closed her eyes, biting her tongue. A moment ago he’d been _her_ Oliver, and she’d just wanted to…

Protect him. Like he was protecting her.

“Felicity?”

Felicity started, and brought the phone back up to her ear.

“Was that your boss?” Felicity opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. “Do you need to go?”

“No. No, I’m… here. Sorry, I…” Even her voice was shaken. Felicity took a deep breath, standing up again. “I should actually probably go, mom.”

“Felicity…” Donna’s frown was so potent on the other end she could hear it. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Felicity replied. “Just… I’m at the office - always at the office, always so much to do, you know.” The words flowed from her mouth like a river of white lies and she let them carry her along. “Something… came up.”

“Oh. Alright.” Donna huffed out a laugh. “You’re so much like him, you know, your father. With work at least, he was always very focused, very… oh, damn it. I didn’t mean-” 

“Mom, it’s fine. You can talk about dad, I’m not going to freak out.” Felicity cleared her throat, the words continuing without any prodding as her mind scrambled to find a way to _not_ concentrate on anything but the black hole she’d just stared into. “Although it is interesting that you’re suddenly on a dad tangent.”

That weird nervous trill was back as Donna said, “Right, well… I guess he’d just been on my mind.” Felicity furrowed her brow, waiting for more, but Donna said, “You know, I never thought the day would come when you would actually want to talk about your dad.”

“Yeah, I guess hell’s frozen over.”

“You sound stressed, honey. There’s nothing wrong with taking a vacation, you know.”

A humorless laugh escaped her. “Oh?”

“When was the last time you got out of the city?”

“Well, actually, I was just…” Felicity stopped. Russia. She’d just been in Russia. The realization of what she was saying and thinking suddenly snapping together had her pushing off the server box. “Mom, have you seen Missa?”

“Missa?”

“Yeah, Missa, your creepy psychic friend who you tell way too much about me.” Her mind was already working, jumping ahead. “Because… she watches the news, or reads the news or whatever she does, but she knows who I work for, and… well, Oliver had to approve a blurb, probably for the investors, not that he even cares, but I’m pretty sure maybe… maybe she saw that and mentioned it to you, because let’s be honest about how those psychics work, it’s basically reading people, and if you-”

“Is there a question in there somewhere?” Donna interrupted. “What does anything have to do with Missa?” 

“A blurb in the Gazette, about Oliver visiting the QC holdings in Moscow.” Silence was her answer and Felicity gestured as she said, “Russians, mom. I was _in_ Russia, last week, with Oliver.”

“Wait, you went to Russia?” Donna asked sharply. Felicity blinked at the hard tone and her mother seemed to catch herself. “I mean, I didn’t even know you left the country, honey. Here I am talking about you leaving the city, you just… you just go all the way, don’t you? So, uh… why were you in Russia?”

“It was for a business… thing.” Among other _things_ \- Felicity was surprised at how bitter that thought tasted as she remembered knocking on Oliver’s door to tell him it was time to get Digg… only to have _her_ walk out of there; the bitterness made her stomach sour. And now she was feeling catty, wasn’t that just the cherry on top of a super great week. “It was very uneventful - business-wise, at least. I mean, it was all uneventful, not like anything happened non-business related or-”

“Wait, wait, hold on a second,” Donna interrupted her. “You went to Russia with your boss?”

“What? No! No, no, not like _that_. Oh my god, not like… _that_. I’m not… no, it was business! Actual business, a business meeting with the Russian offices, that’s it.”

“I’ve seen pictures of Oliver Queen, honey,” Donna said, chuckling knowingly. “I know he probably looks just as good out of a suit as he does in it.” 

“I don’t know anything about that, at all. I mean, yes, I’ve seen him with his shirt off, but that’s it. Not often! Or at all, and it’s not even that great, he’s very… flabby.” Felicity’s eyes snapped shut as her mouth just would not stop. “He’s not _flabby_ , he’s actually very… defined, but I don’t notice. Because he’s my boss and I don’t… do that, with my boss, and oh my god, I’m…” She took a deep breath. “I am not sleeping with my boss, mom.”

“Okay, honey, if you say so.”

“If I…” Felicity made a face. “I do say so!”

Donna chuckled again, sounding entirely too amused and unconvinced, and it made Felicity’s stomach feel icky. Wasn’t it enough that every single person in Queen Consolidated - including the irreverent Isabel Rochev, judging by the extremely judgy eyes she’d been harnessing earlier - thought she was sleeping with Oliver, and now her mother too? Did she really think she would do that? 

Felicity groaned under her breath, turning to press her face against the cool metal of the server box. 

How much more could she handle, honestly, this was all completely and utterly…

“Ridiculous,” she whispered.

Wasn’t it enough that the very person she was _supposed_ to be sleeping with was actually putting her on the outs? That she couldn’t even take a step into her own home - couldn’t even take a bath in her own tub - without fear that someone was going to barge in and do god only knew what, and now her mother had joined the ranks of people who thought she was another warm body in Oliver’s bed.

Was it a good thing that she found that thought more stressing than the thought of the Bratva coming after her? 

Felicity was _tired_. 

She was sick of feeling like too much was happening, too fast, like she couldn’t find her footing, especially with Oliver. She needed to make a list of everything that was going on, just to _see_ it, to make sense of it, put everything in a column so it had its place, so she could _think_ … add to a column her mother calling, asking about _Russians_ , of all things, all because her stupid psychic was too good at creating a web of information that she had no business creating, and on top of that, Oliver _hearing_ her, and…

She needed to sleep. For a year, at least. Maybe two.

And to maybe stop drinking so much coffee since she was pretty sure it’d replaced all her blood at some point earlier that day.

So what now?

Should she say, _‘You know, mom, if you do see any Russians, you should run?’_ But it was ridiculous. It wasn’t plausible, or logical, and if Donna had enough state of mind to sit on the other end of the phone and actually tease her about going to Russia with Oliver, she was probably fine, and it only solidified that Missa was behind this.

Who knew there’d be day when she was actually glad to live in a world where her mother taking the advice of a psychic was a perfectly normal explanation for something?

“Mom, I should go,” Felicity said. The gentle whir of the servers slowly penetrated her thoughts, calming her. She took a deep breath, not letting herself think about what waited for her when she hung up the phone. “I have a lot of work to do.”

That was one way to put it - she just knew Oliver was waiting for her.

He had to come over _right then_?

“Honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable talking about your boss like that. I was just teasing.”

“You didn’t. We both know I do that just fine on my own.” Donna chuckled and Felicity couldn’t stop the ghost of a smile that decorated her lips. “I do need to go, though. There’s a new client, and he’s very… demanding.” It wasn’t exactly a _lie_. Felicity pushed herself off the server again, pulling her phone away to note the time, and frowned when she saw the number. “Mom, why are you not calling from your cellphone?”

“Oh… it’s dying.”

“Where are you calling from then, I don’t recognize the number. Did you switch casinos again?”

“No, I’m actually on a payphone.”

Not on the Strip she wasn’t. “It’s not-”

“It’s a new place, closer to our old house… you remember the old house, the one with the broken fence?”

“Are you working there now, this new mystery place?”

“Not… no, I’m out with a few of the girls from the Lounge, that’s all.”

_That’s all._

“You’re out with the girls…” The loud horn from earlier came back to her. “At a truck stop?”

Donna paused. “What makes you think I’m at a truck stop?”

“I heard a horn earlier, like a semi-truck horn.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not. I’m by the highway. I mean, the bar’s by the highway.”

“Okay…”

“I’ll let you get back to work, baby girl. But don’t work too hard, you need to take care of yourself, okay? And be safe.”

“Yeah, mom…” 

For a split second, Felicity felt the insane urge to spill everything to her. To tell her that the Russian mob was apparently interested in her, that that was why she’d freaked out when she heard the word ‘Russians’ come from her lips; that she couldn’t even go to her stupid apartment; that she was actually really scared, so scared that she was compartmentalizing everything, and that she’d almost lost it when Donna had called, but she wasn’t going to be the reason why someone else got hurt; that one of the most important men in her life was treating her like porcelain, not talking to her, shutting her out… 

Instead, she said, “I always am.”

“I love you, Felicity.”

“I love you too.”

“Good. Good. Can I… can I call you this weekend, maybe?” 

_This weekend_. A nest of butterflies erupted in Felicity’s stomach at the thought of what waited for her - _for them_ \- this weekend. It suddenly felt very far away, like an alternate Felicity was dealing with it, and she absently remembered that was what she’d been arguing with Oliver about when Donna had called. 

“I know you’re busy, sweetheart, but I just want… I want to talk you again, that’s all.”

“I’m actually working,” Felicity said lamely - was that what she was going to call it? Having to go as Oliver’s couch to a mobster gala? 

“I’m sure Mr. Queen will understand you taking five minutes to talk to your mother, Felicity.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” Felicity finally said. “Yes, okay. I’ll call you.”

“How about I call you? I think I lost my charger, anyway, it’d just be easier for me to call you. But make sure you pick up this time, okay?”

“I will.”

“Okay, good… good. Bye, baby… I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Please be safe.”

“You too, mom.”

“Bye.”

Felicity slowly pulled the phone away from her ear. It was hot from holding it up for so long, her elbow achy from being bent. She shut the screen off and let her hand fall until it smacked against her thigh.

God, she could literally sleep for three months straight.

“I should not have gotten out of bed this morning. This week, even,” she murmured to one of her server boxes. When it didn’t respond, she added, “Or this month.”

The foundry was silent.

It was _unnerving_. 

Oliver's face flickered through her head like a morbid merry-go-round, and she stayed right where she was, tapping her fingers against her phone.

What was she going to say? The truth, obviously, but would he believe her?

It was _nothing_ , but the second he’d heard the word Russians, he’d…

Felicity bit her lip before taking a deep breath. 

Well, she didn’t have much choice, did she?

She turned, making her way back to the main floor. Despite her resolve, she moved slowly, not wanting to leave the familiar hum of her babies, almost as if she stayed in there, nothing else bad would happen.

She was really sick of things _happening_.

Like Oliver walking in at the exact right moment - what had _she_ done to pissed the Google gods off so badly? What about the jerks in the stupid Russian mob, why weren’t the gods going after them? She wished she’d never picked up her stupid phone. Why hadn’t she at least gone outside? What had Past Felicity been _thinking_? 

That bottle of red sitting in her kitchen sounded better and better with each passing second. Maybe she could talk Oliver into getting a winery installed down there - stat - at least then _one_ thing could go right. 

That could be a topic for tomorrow morning, when he’d calmed down.

Felicity rounded the corner, whispering, "And a proper bathtub. With bubbles. Not that you really _install_ bubbles-" and ran right into Oliver's broad chest. “Oh!”

Felicity gasped, backpedaling; he didn’t move an inch where he stood - _had been standing_. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his face blank and impassive…This was the complete opposite of the man who’d slammed his hands on a table, who’d thrown bottles across the foundry. 

Felicity clenched her phone a little tighter, unconsciously bringing it up to her chest - like a shield.

His brow furrowed, watching her every movement, but he didn't say a thing. 

"Hi.”

Oliver's gaze burned right through her.

Felicity shifted, realizing too late that she was squeezing the ever-loving crap out of her phone. It suddenly let out a long beep and started talking, making her jump. She glanced down, rattled, and shut it off before looking back at him. She opened her mouth to… berate him? Yes, berate him, about listening to her calls, about _anything_ , but he beat her to it.

“Russians?” 

His voice was soft, unthreatening… but it felt like so much more at the same time, like he was yelling. Felicity’s heart leaped up into her throat like he had raised his voice, like he’d thrown something again… her heart rate dancing through her veins with too much force.

_It was nothing._

She opened her mouth to say just that, but the look on his face stopped her; everything about him stopped her. He was distant… _cold_. Gone was the urgent worry when he’d held her, when he’d grabbed her, bringing her back to the moment. Gone was the man who’d looked like he was ready to jump into whatever she needed when he’d seen the look on her face, knowing something was up before falling back - _trusting her_ \- when she’d regained her equilibrium, the equilibrium he’d given her… 

Felicity knew without a doubt that the calm on the surface was just that: surface, a show; she knew his arms were strict with tension because he was making tight fists in his pockets, the muscle in his cheek ticking as he waited… waited to pounce.

He cocked his head, and she felt very much like prey to a predator.

“What exactly did she say, Felicity?” he asked, his voice so low it rivaled his modulator.

“Psychic,” she replied immediately, and when her brain caught up with she’d said, she forced a smile to her lips. “You remember the red bath thing, right? Just another gem in a long series of gems from Missa. She, uh… she saw that we’d just been in Russia, because CEO Oliver Queen can’t traipse around the world without someone reporting on it, right? And so my mom asked if I’d met any Russians. It was just a misunderstanding. Me, that is. My misunderstanding. Earlier. When she called.” 

“A misunderstanding?” The word fell from his tongue slowly, like he’d never tasted it before. She nodded, keeping the smile on her face… until his suddenly shifted, the storm of emotions from earlier clouding his eyes so quickly it gave her whiplash, and her smile disappeared. His voice was still the same voided calmness, but his teeth was clenched. “It didn’t sound like a misunderstanding, Felicity. You were white as a ghost.”

The thinly veiled accusation that she was lying made her stomach sink.

“Well, that’s probably because I haven’t been getting a lot of sun, Oliver,” she said, a little too sharply. “What with all this late-night vigilante-ing… ing, or however you say that.” He didn’t respond, didn’t do anything but stare at her, and Felicity moved to step past him. “Okay? It wasn’t anything, I…”

Oliver grabbed her arm before she could finish; her words ended in a startled gasp as he gripped her elbow so tightly it hurt.

“Oliver, that…”

“Felicity,” he ground out, his grip tightening and she winced… but she didn’t pull away. “I need…”

Oliver stared at her, his eyes colored with turmoil. It wasn’t just his grip that was tight, it was _everything_. His eyes flickered between hers, looking pained, like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Instead he shut them for a second, for a split second, and when he opened them again… she shivered.

Abject pain and anger reflected back at her - the rift that had been growing wider and wider between them suddenly disappeared. Just as his touch had grounded her earlier, her touch opened him, and she saw it all - he was a powder keg waiting to go off, a volatile mix of emotions that if mixed the wrong, was going to blow. Despite the way his eyes darkened, the way his jaw clenched, his nostrils flared with constrained breaths, his strong grip on her, like if he let her go this time, he’d be the one floating away… she’d never felt safer than she did in that moment.

She knew he would kill anyone or anything that stepped within a foot of him.

_Of them._

The emotions roiling inside him only amplified his natural body heat until he was scorching her through her sleeve.

“Oliver…” She softly grasped his arm with her free hand, breaking the moment. He inhaled quickly, letting her go, but she didn’t let him go far, clutching at his sleeve. Her eyes never left his as she said, “It’s just a freaky coincidence, Oliver, I promise.”

“It’s just a… do you honestly think that? That it’s just a freaky coincidence? God, Felicity…” His voice cracked, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “You have no idea,” he said, his voice shifting drastically as his eyes zeroed in on her again, “What they are capable of, Felicity; _none_. And if you aren’t telling me everything, if you’re keeping something from me, I need to know. _Now_.”

The words were an ice cold slap to the face. 

Felicity snatched her arm back, taking a quick step back. “That is really rich coming from you.”

“I’m trying to protect you, damn it,” he snapped. “I don’t want you to know what I know, I don’t want you to… I don’t want you to see what I see when I close my eyes at night, I don’t want you in that, in any way, but… damn it, you just won’t listen! And now your mom won’t stop calling you, and when you do pick up, she says something that obviously scares the hell out of you, and then I…”

Felicity flinched, ignoring the ice clenching her stomach at what he was about to say. 

Her words were just as hard as his as she said, “It wasn’t what you thought.”

“You’re damn right it wasn’t what I thought,” Oliver said, his words so sharp they sliced right through her. He stared at her for a beat, his breathing heavy, his eyes narrowed… For a split second, he looked like he was at a complete loss, like he just didn’t know what to _say_ ; he looked like he wanted to stalk off, like he wanted to hit something again, like he wanted to scream at her… Instead he clenched his teeth so hard she heard them grinding before he continued, his soft voice belying their intensity, “How do you think it felt, Felicity, hearing that your mother was asking you about _Russians_? Were you even going to tell me?” 

“You didn’t give me a chance to tell you,” she replied, her voice growing. “And even if it was something I should tell you, it’s not like you’ve been keeping that door open very wide, Oliver. Every time I try to talk to you about anything related to this Bratva stuff, you clam up! You shut _me_ out, not the other way around.” 

“Felicity, it’s not…” Oliver’s hands flew to his face, touching his forehead for a split second before he made tight fists. She could see him visibly pulling himself back, reigning himself in, clamping down on whatever he was going to say, which only pissed her off more. He let out a steady, controlled breath, using his hand for emphasis as he said, “How am I supposed to make sure nothing happens to you if you don’t meet me halfway?”

“If I don’t… do you even hear yourself right now?” Felicity demanded, shaking her head. “Are you… I mean…” She threw her hands up. “Fine, I’ll meet you halfway, Oliver, alright - _yes_ , I was scared when she said that, because my mind immediately jumped to every single horrible thing that could possibly be going wrong, and you know why? Because you won’t talk to me about it, about _any_ of it. You give me half-truths and annoyed grunts, or you just glare at me. _I don’t know what’s going on!_ I don’t know what to think! What am I _supposed_ to say to you, Oliver, how are you someone I can turn to right now? You want me to tell you everything, but you won’t tell me anything.”

“Felicity…”

Felicity held her hand up. “No, Oliver, stop. Just stop.” She stared at him, trying to make him _understand_. “Oliver, I trust you, and I know you _think_ you’re doing the right thing by keeping me in the dark, that you’re protecting me somehow, but you’re not. You’re _wrong_ , Oliver, and I need you to trust me back when I say it is not helping anything.”

Oliver growled under his breath, letting out a harsh breath before he shoved his face into his hands, scrubbing them up and over his head.

“It’s making it worse, Oliver, it’s making us… it… not work.” 

Felicity waited, waited for him to say _anything_ , but he just stood there - doing _nothing_ \- his head bowed. He cupped the back of his neck, breathing so hard through his nose she could hear it.

How could he not see what he was doing?

“Oliver.” He didn’t move. “I would’ve told you.” He let out a heavy huff that might as well have said, _‘Yeah, right,’_ and Felicity gritted her teeth, pointing at him. “That. That right there is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you would freak out, which you are doing a very fine job of right now.” 

Oliver dropped his hands, his shoulders falling, but he still wouldn’t look at her. She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

The longer he didn’t look at her, the more that rift started growing between them again. The air filling the space between them became stagnant.

“I wanted all the facts before I said anything, Oliver. Because I know my mom, and Donna Smoak would not berate me about crazy people flying through the air shooting arrows or about going on vacations with my boss.” Oliver’s eyes snapped back to her for a split second in frustrated confusion, but she ignored it, trying to keep his eye as she said, “It’s just a freak coincidence that this happened right now. That’s it.”

Silence.

The rasp of his thumb rubbing against his index finger started to fill the space; the cuts on his fingers were still trying to heal, and the more he rubbed his fingers together, the more she swore she could actually hear his skin _pulling_.

“Oliver,” Felicity said. He took a deep breath, but he still didn’t respond. She shrugged helplessly. “What?”

“You didn’t tell me,” he said softly, his eyes coming up to meet hers and the quiet acceptance was like a hot poker straight through her chest. “And you wouldn’t have told me.” 

The surety in his voice stunned her. He didn’t believe her. Felicity wrapped her arms around her middle, taking a step back. She could only stare at him, feeling like she was standing on the edge of a giant black hole as he stared at the ground, his face tight with a resignation that made her stomach feel too hot.

“Oliver…”

Oliver shook his head again, looking at everything but her. 

He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he clenched his jaw, squeezing his hands into tight fists again…

“Damn it,” he breathed, and then he abruptly turned, leaving her. 

Felicity watched him go, her vision suddenly blurring with an angry sheen of tears. She blinked rapidly to dispel them, and held herself tighter, taking a deep breath, the wild thought that if she breathed too heavy she might shatter tramping through her head as she made her way out of the servers.

Diggle didn’t give any indication that he’d heard them fighting as she made her way back to her computers - although of course he’d heard them, they were barely twenty feet away, and Oliver had to have stalked right past him with his giant cloud of anger hanging over his head.

He didn’t stay away for long. 

She more felt him than saw him as he stepped towards her.

“Felicity.”

“John…” Felicity shook her head, holding a hand up as she sat down. “I really don’t think I can handle it from both of you right now.”

She rolled her chair closer to her desk, staring blindly at the screens. She caught him out the corner of her eye leaning on his hands next to her, the metal table groaning softly under the weight; his quiet intensity was like a third person in the room as he most definitely did not go away.

“What exactly did your mom say?” he asked.

“Psychic,” she replied sharply, turning to look at him. “It was just a coincidence, John.”

“Yeah, you sound really convincing right now,” he said dryly. Felicity narrowed her eyes, and he leveled her with a look that she was pretty sure must have made some soldiers somewhere start crying. “Humor me, Felicity.”

“She asked if I’d met any Russians recently, okay?” she snapped, spinning her chair to face him. “Which, yeah, in and of itself is pretty terrifying, which is why I reacted the way I did, but it was just a coincidence. She tells her stupid psychic everything that’s going on in her life, _including_ my stuff, so she knows I work for Oliver, and that we’ve recently traveled to Russia. That’s it, that’s all.”

“She asked if you’ve _met_ any Russians?” Diggle asked. “That’s a pretty specific coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Sure, but then I could say it’s a pretty interesting coincidence that we were just in Russia recently, that maybe something happened there that’s spawning all this Bratva stuff, that maybe it’s all connected to that gulag, that maybe that guy who happens to, what, _run_ the entire Bratva thing - what was his name, Anatoly? Maybe _he_ wants to keep tabs on Oliver. Did you ever think of that? Maybe it’s a coincidence that Isabel speaks stupid Russian too, maybe it means she’s actually in the Russian mob! Maybe she’s a Russian mole! I’m pretty sure we could say a lot of things are an interesting coincidence, Digg!”

Silence reigned.

After a moment, Diggle slowly backed off, holding his hands up in surrender and Felicity deflated. She felt the hot burn of tears in her eyes again, but she blinked them away, shaking her head as the stress of the last few days suddenly weighed her down, like someone had dumped a truck-load of bricks over her head. She collapsed in her chair.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” She lifted her hands in a ‘grr’ motion. “My loud voice just keeps coming out, especially with you, and it’s not _you_ I mean to… loud voice at. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Diggle grasped her shoulder for a second. “I get it. This is a weird situation, I think we’re all feeling a little under pressure.” He sighed. “Some of us more than others.”

Felicity snorted, propping her elbow on her desk, her face falling into her hand. “You think?” He gave her a look, and she chuckled, softly, disbelievingly. “Sorry, I’m just…” She buried her face into her palm. “This day could not possibly get any worse.”

Oliver’s footsteps - sounding heavier, like he’d changed into his biker boots - came from the back of the foundry, and they both looked up as he reappeared. Felicity sat up straighter as Diggle turned to face him; it didn’t escape her attention that he crossed his arms, his muscles tightening, and she felt a warm, fuzzy feeling; Oliver was so hot and cold these days, it was comforting knowing that no matter what happened, Diggle would remain even-keeled, reliable, no matter what.

Maybe that was why she hadn’t flown off the deep end just yet.

Oliver had changed into jeans and a clean t-shirt, and instead of his Arrow jacket, he had his leather riding one clenched in one hand, and a bloody manila folder in the other. Her stomach flipped when she saw the dried cooper smears all over it… which was probably from his hand, which meant he’d gotten that the same time he’d cut it, which was not an awesome coincidence.

His face was still pinched with anger, his eyes on _her_. 

Felicity bit the inside of her lip and stood up to meet him. Her mind was already imagining all the horrible news that could come from something as mundane as a manila folder… except this one was covered in Oliver’s blood, probably from the night before, when he’d gone to meet his Bratva contacts.

Her stomach flipped again, and when her she felt a fine tremble in her hands, she rolled her chair so it was right next to her, holding onto it.

Oliver came to a stop before her.

He held the folder out to her, but she didn’t take it.

“What is it?” she asked, eyes on the folder.

“It’s the reason why you should be taking this more seriously.”

Her eyes snapped back to his. “I’m getting more than a little sick of you thinking I’m not.”

He ignored her, shaking the folder. “It’s why I don’t want you stepping one foot in your apartment, why I don’t even want to…” He took a quick breath. “It’s why I don’t want to let you out of my sight. And it’s why you should call your mom back and tell her to get somewhere safe.”

Felicity closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Oliver…”

“Felicity.” Her name slipped from his lips with the force and surety of letting an arrow loose from his bow, and she flinched, her mouth snapping shut. 

They stared at each other, the tension in the air so palpable she could taste it. 

He handed her the folder again.

After a second, she took it, ignoring the fact that her hand was visibly shaking compared to his, which was eerily still. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move - he just _watched_ at her as she did nothing but hold the folder, absently marveling at how just a moment ago she’d felt so safe within his orbit, despite the flurry of violent emotions staring back at her…

Now, she felt like she’d been shoved under a microscope again.

But this time the microscope had claws. 

“Open it,” he said, nodding to the folder, his voice detached and cold.

Felicity looked down at the blood smears, staring at them for a pregnant moment, the pressure in her chest building. Her fingers felt like they were made of ice as she finally opened it… to a spreadsheet of facts. 

She didn’t see anything for a quick second, all the tiny letters and numbers blurring together before they suddenly got very focused, the pages taking shape in the form of facts about...

_Her_.

A rush of white noise stampeded through her head.

Her birthday, where she’d been born, what hospital she’d been born in, the schools she’d attended, the car she drove, her interest rate on it, her social security number, the salad dressing she used the most often… 

It was… her life. Her _entire_ life.

“You were right,” Oliver said. His voice barely penetrated the haze in her head as she stared at the line dictating what color her fingernails were. _Gold_. She’d painted them that color five days ago. “I wasn’t telling you everything, because I… I needed to protect you, Felicity. From this, from…” 

He cut himself off, taking a shaky breath, but she didn’t respond, because clipped at the bottom of the left flap was a candid photo of her, leaving Queen Consolidated.

Felicity stared it. 

“I haven’t worn that jacket in weeks.” She tried to take a breath, but her lungs were too tight for anything less than a choked gasp. She touched the picture with a shaky finger, vaguely seeing Oliver reach for her before he changed his mind, stepping back instead, turning to set his jacket down. 

She didn’t look up at him, she didn’t look to see what Diggle was doing, she didn’t even care if she was still standing or not.

Her eyes scanned the information again, trying very hard to ignore the bile starting to push up her gullet. It tasted chalky, like old coffee and chewed erasers. It wasn’t good, it didn’t taste good… what was the last time she’d eaten? Maybe that would explain why her stomach felt so hollow, why she felt the nausea tapping at her stomach walls with an acuteness that left her feeling like she was free-falling.

Maybe she could ask them, whoever had put this together, since they seemed to know everything else.

Her chuckle was incredulous as she shifted the folder, like maybe it wasn’t real, maybe it was actually a blank page and her mind was projecting all her information. 

But it i>was real. 

She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to do, if she wanted to fling it away, or close it and pretend she’d never seen it, or yank that picture out and rip it up.

A clip on the right flap suddenly snapped loose, and more photos fell out, scattering across the floor. Felicity took a quick step back to avoid them hitting her, breathing out a cracked, “Oh,” as Oliver turned back to her at the slight ruckus.

She was _everywhere_.

She was just doing things, by herself. Things when you were supposed to be anonymous, just another face in the crowd, a random person among other random people; when someone shouldn’t be taking pictures of her eating a croissant, or scratching her knee, or rummaging through her purse, or… or _anything_.

Felicity slowly kneeled down, her eyes darting all over them, unable to stop on just one.

If she did, she’d throw up her old coffee.

She moved to touch one of them, but her hand froze before she could.

This was real. They’d been watching her, surveilling her. She’d thought about it, in the back of her head, about how far someone would have gone to find her, but she’d never dreamed of… _this_. 

Felicity paused when she saw a picture of her eating ice cream in her living room - in her _living room_ \- and another one of her entering her apartment… wearing a skirt that…

With a determination that made her fingers shake, she grabbed that picture, tears blurring the image - that was her _front door_ , and that was her going through it, into her apartment, wearing… She’d worn that teal skirt for the first time two weeks ago, but she’d accidentally smudged some ink on the hem; she’d specifically put it aside to be dry-cleaned because the last time she attempted to do it on her own, she’d ruined a perfectly good shirt.

Felicity looked at the teal skirt every day and said, _“Today is the day you get dry cleaned,”_ but it hadn’t happened, not yet.

_Weeks_.

This wasn’t something that had just come up a few days ago. This was weeks of work, weeks of people following her, of cameras on her, documenting her entire life.

Felicity made a sound in the back of her throat.

She felt _violated_ , because she had been violated. Her eyes ticked to the rest of the pictures, to her life playing out in a way that she should never have had to see. What did this mean? Why go through all this trouble? Who wanted her, and why? This wasn’t just a simple ‘she broke into our system, let’s get her’ sort of thing, not like Oliver had made her think… 

“I… I thought it was just a…”

Her stomach roiled, acid burning her throat, making her tongue taste like chalk.

“Felicity.” Oliver appeared next to her, his heavy boot gingerly brushing the pictures aside before he kneeled at her side. She watched him pull the picture out of her hands, her eyes following it as he set it down with the rest before he grasped her hands. The sudden warmth made her inhale sharply. “Look at me.”

She couldn’t. Her eyes were stuck on that picture.

That picture of her, going into her apartment, her personal space…

“Felicity.” 

Oliver clasped her hands together, wrapping them in one hand while his other touched her cheek. Her heart jumped up into her throat at the softness of his fingers. He said her name again, softly, and she closed her eyes, shaking her head. He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him.

He was a messy blur before she blinked the tears away, sending a few down her cheek. He wiped them away as their eyes met.

“I will not let anything happen to you. _Ever_.” The intensity in his words, the intensity in the way he was looking at her, the intense twist of emotions on his face, the way his fingers tightened, the way his hand holding hers shook… it all sent a shiver skipping down her spine - it was almost too much, but she didn’t look away. She couldn’t. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Felicity, I won’t let anything happen to you. Okay?”

Felicity blinked, trying to open her mouth, trying to make her lips move, trying to say, _“Okay,”_ but the words wouldn’t come.

Someone had been following her, for a while. A long while.

“Felicity…”

How had she not known? How had she not felt someone’s eyes on her, a constant, intrusive presence, following her everywhere she…

Her eyes flew to his. “Do they know about you?” 

Oliver started at the question, surprise and something dark skating over his features when he realized what she was asking. She turned to look back at the pictures, his hand falling away; the chill that replaced his warmth was ten times more vivid. She nodded at the images. 

“They’ve obviously been following me, which means they probably followed me here. To you.” She looked back at him, a thin layer of hysteria starting to cloud her voice. “To the Arrow, to what we do at night - do they know what you do because they were following me?” 

“No,” Oliver said, shaking his head. “They don’t.”

“How do you know?” 

Her eyes darted back to the pictures, the implication of the question setting in - what if she had exposed him? If someone was interested enough in her to follow her long enough to know what ice cream she ate and how many cups of coffee a day she had, they had to know she worked with the crazy bow-wielding guy who protected the city. 

_They had to._

“Oliver, they… they have pictures of me in the grocery store, in that little sandwich shop, at… at home, in my car, they have to know I come here and-”

“Felicity, stop. They don’t.” She stared at him, waiting for more, and he slowly released her hands. “Alexi made a comment that makes me think they assume you’re here because you’re doing… other things.” 

“Other things?” she repeated, looking at him uncomprehendingly. “Like what… like… accounting?”

A breathy chuckle left him at that, a humorless sound that made her stomach drop; it went lower when he looked her straight in the eye. “This is my club, Felicity. You are my executive assistant at the office, but here… here you’re just a woman.”

“… Oh.”

_Oh._

Her face burned hot at the thought of _more_ people - strangers, dangerous strangers - making assumptions about how she spent her time with Oliver.

“Right. Okay. Exactly like everyone at Queen Consolidated thinks. That’s just… good. Not good for me, or my reputation, but good that they don’t know, about you. It would be really silly if everyone found out you were the Arrow and involved in the Russian mob _and not_ having sex with your assistant.” Felicity closed her eyes, her chest tightening. “That last part would actually be a good thing.”

She turned away from him, her eyes drifting over the photos before they found Diggle. He stood on the outside of the rough circle the splayed pictures had made, his arms crossed, his jaw tight as he stared down at them. He looked up the same time she did. He didn’t move or say anything, but the hard vehemence in his face said he wanted to punch someone in the throat. 

She looked at the pictures again.

“Do you understand now?” Oliver asked. “Why I don’t want you going to your apartment… much less the gala?”

_The gala._

But Felicity didn’t respond. 

Her eyes latched onto a lamp in her living room, one of the few things she’d brought with her from Vegas. The stand was covered in wood-carved purple monkeys, and it had a deep red frilly shade that matched absolutely nothing in her apartment. 

Donna had picked it out at a flea market.

_“You haven’t met any Russians recently, have you?”_

Did they know about Donna? Of course they knew about Donna - they knew everything else. But wouldn’t her mother have said something? Why would they go through all the trouble of going to Vegas, of tracking her mother down when they already had her? She was right there, the entire time, for _weeks_ , maybe even longer. 

No, no it didn’t make sense for them to do that. If they were there to take her, to… do something to her, with her, they already would have.

Felicity gently picked up the picture, and another, and then another. She slowly gathered them up, not acknowledging Oliver when he stood, when he backed out of the way as she cleaned the floor, her mind spinning through all the dozens of reasons why anyone would be interested in her again - interested like _this_ , interested enough to _stalk_ her like this.

How could she have not known?

A chill sliced through her center, but she kept moving, kept picking up the pictures until she’d gathered them all into a neat pile. Nobody spoke as she stood, her knees feeling shaky.

She didn’t remember dropping the folder, but there it was, at her feet, still smeared with Oliver’s blood, still a tell-all book about Felicity Meghan Smoak. 

Her mind fell back to when she’d first seen it, when he’d barged into the foundry with his ‘Keep Felicity Out of Sight’ plan. He’d had this since then… Oliver had _known_ about this. Had he read it all? Had he seen the pictures? Had he known she’d been followed for so long, that someone had been watching her?

Felicity picked it up.

He now knew more about her than she probably did at this point. He could probably tell her what she’d eaten last Tuesday, what color her toenails were, when her last period was…

A suffocating balloon of anger filled her chest. 

He’d known, this entire time, and he hadn’t said a word.

“You didn’t tell me about this.” She looked at Oliver where he stood a few feet away, his hands shoved in his pockets. The second her words were out he stiffened, his face growing tight, unrelenting, and it sparked a fire in her chest.

He was shutting her out. 

_Again._

How many different sides of him had she seen within the last few hours alone? The last few days? More than she had in the long months that she’d known him, that was for sure; she’d always known he was a multi-faceted man, that he had more layers than most people combined, but…

_This._

Oliver didn’t answer and she clenched the folder into a tight fist, crinkling it.

“Why?” she demanded.

“Felicity…” he sighed, and she snapped.

“No.” She waved the folder to cut him off. “This… you should have told me. This isn’t something you don’t tell people, Oliver, especially when it’s pictures of _me_ in _my_ apartment.”

“I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You didn’t want to scare me?” Felicity scoffed. “What do you think you’ve been doing then? Do you really think keeping me in the dark is any less scary? You think _lying_ to me is any less scary?” He had the good sense to look contrite for a second, and Felicity closed the distance between them. “This concerns _me_ , Oliver. It is literally about _me_. Didn’t you think I deserved to see this?”

“I didn’t want you in this, Felicity,” he said, his voice rising. “And I still don’t. The last thing I want is for anything to happen to you.”

“So you think hiding things from me is the best way to do that?”

“Felicity…”

“No, it wasn’t your choice. And you took that choice away from me when you specifically chose to _not_ tell me about this. God, Oliver, you want me to be upfront and honest about everything when you’re keeping stuff like _this_ away from me?” 

He fell silent again.

Felicity gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to roll her eyes… or to hit him… or to throw the pictures in his face.

“Is that why you showed me this now?” she asked. “Because I wasn’t _listening_ to you? Because I didn’t immediately explain what my mom was asking?” He stared at her, not giving anything away… and that was her answer. She blinked in astonishment, shaking her head. “Oliver… You never would’ve shown me this.”

He looked away. 

Felicity took a deep breath to quiet the rattling in her chest. 

He’d only shown her because he thought it would get him more information, about her mom, about whatever her mom was asking, about… everything. His struggle a moment ago suddenly made a lot more sense.

_“You didn’t tell me. And you wouldn’t have told me.”_

Was this his twisted idea of trying to communicate with her? No, no it wasn’t - he’d only shown her this because he wanted to _scare_ her; he wanted to prove a point. He wanted her to open up to him; he wanted the entire inch, but he was barely giving her a centimeter. He wasn’t going to share anything he didn’t want to, he wasn’t going to be open with her, to treat her as a member of this team, just as much as he and Diggle were one…

Well, screw that.

Felicity squared her shoulders. “I’m going to my apartment.” 

“What?” Oliver growled just as Diggle said, “Felicity, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No, John, it actually is,” she said, looking back at him. “It’s an amazing idea.”

Oliver glared at her. “That is the _last_ place you need to be, Felicity.”

“And it’s not your choice to make, Oliver,” she retorted, returning his glare with just as much ferocity. 

Felicity stalked back to her desk, dropping the folder and the pictures with too much force. The photos scattered just like they had on the floor, and she saw several she hadn’t yet seen…

Including one in her bathroom.

Felicity’s breath caught as she stared at it - she was putting makeup on in it, making a face, her hair still messy from bed, wearing a tank top… they’d been _inside her apartment_. They’d planted cameras in there, watching her… they’d been watching her in her _bathroom_. 

The picture blurred, and she tore her eyes away, making tight fists. 

_No._

Instead of letting out the sob trying to crawl its way up her throat, she swallowed it down, letting it spur her on.

“You should’ve shown me. Oliver, I get that you have your reasons,” she said, turning to face him. “I honestly don’t know what else I can do to make you see that I get that, but that doesn’t change that you were wrong for keeping this from me.” He just stared at her. “I can handle this.”

“It’s not a question of you handling it.”

“No, it’s a question of protecting me, right?”

A rending sadness slashed over his face, one that she felt in her chest, but it was the regret that made her stop. In that second, his shoulders fell, his entire body caving; he regretted it all - ever bringing her on, ever getting her involved; he blamed himself for this, for her involvement… he honestly believed that all of this was happening because of him, that her life was in danger because of him.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that, Oliver,” she said. “My life, my choice, remember? I’m here because I choose to be. I joined this because I wanted to. You didn’t force me, which means this isn’t your fault. So stop looking like a kicked puppy.”

Incredulity stared back at her before he let out a disbelieving, humorless chuckle.

“No more half-truths,” she said, keeping her eyes glued to his. “No more omissions, no more… hiding secret terrifying manila folders that hold way too much information about me. Okay? I’m in this whether you like it or not, and I can’t have you treating me like I’m a couch.” 

His brows furrowed in exasperation before he scrubbed his face, his eyes dancing over to Diggle for a second before coming back to her. 

“This isn’t just you anymore, Oliver,” she said softly. “You’re not in this alone…

“I’m all in.” His eyes hardened, just enough for her to square her shoulders even more. “Or I’m all out. No more in-between.”

Another moment of thick silence passed, his face stoic, shut up tight… Neither of them backed down, nobody moved. Felicity didn’t even blink. Oliver clenched his jaw, the space between them growing heavier… and then he dragged his hand down his face, scraping it back up to rub his eyes. He sighed, the sound muffled by his palm. 

She wasn’t sure how much time passed, or how long he stood there, or how long she watched him, watched the physical evidence as he waged a silent war against himself…

And then he deflated.

When he looked at her again, his eyes were red… but they were clearer than they had been in days.

“I wasn’t… trying to treat you like a couch.” Oliver shook his head, his eyes slipping to look over her shoulder, seeing something only he could see. He clenched his jaw, before his eyes slipped back to her. “All this, it was never supposed to touch you, Felicity, not like this, not _you_.”

His emphasis made her chest ache.

“Oliver…” Felicity closed the distance between them again, grasping his forearm, and he closed his eyes, leaning towards her. “I know that. I’d even be willing to admit it’s nice, in a really overbearing, insufferable sort of way.” His lips quirked again as he looked down at her. “Me admitting that was not me condoning your buttheadian behavior.”

He gave her a little nod, his smile dulling… but it didn’t go away.

She gripped him tighter. “Oliver, I know you won’t let anything happen to me, okay? I trust you.”

Her words had a physical impact on him - his shoulders jerked, like she’d just shocked him. His eyes searched her face wildly before settling on hers. A beat passed, the air between them thickening, before she finally felt him moving. 

Oliver lifted the arm she held and gripped her back.

She knew the uphill battle was far from over, because she knew him, but this…

“Alright then,” Felicity breathed, nodding. She glanced at Diggle, who gave her a tiny head shake, a look of pride coloring his face. She looked back to Oliver. “It’s kinda nice to know that stuff now, the information they gathered, and the pictures. They might have a lead in them or something… as creepy and _terrifying_ as they all are.” For the first time since she’d seen those pictures, her voice got a little higher, but she swallowed it down. “And I am going to my apartment.”

Oliver’s face immediately darkened, his grip on her tightening to the point of pain again.

“My life. My choice,” she said. “And besides, I’m pretty sure Digg promised me some training, and if you brought me the wrong sneakers, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions.”

The joke fell flat as Oliver stared down at her. 

She met his gaze, feeling the silent battle of wills. 

He bit his tongue, pinching his lips together, holding onto her… 

And then he finally nodded.

It wasn’t much, but it was _everything_ at the same time.

“Okay then,” Felicity said. “Let’s go. Those workout clothes won’t get themselves.”


	9. New blood joins this earth, and quickly he’s subdued… (71 hours before the gala…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the awesome response and support for this fic! Every comment, kudos, favorite, rec, tweet... it all means the world to me.
> 
> A **huge** thank you to Margaret (teawhovian/TeaWithLemon) for her beta help, but mostly for her support, because really, this story wouldn't be nearly as awesome without her.

Oliver wanted to kill something.

It was an itch deep in his bones, dancing along every inch of his nerves, making his skin feel like it was going to evaporate any second.

The desire had been growing slowly, from the instant the idea about going to the gala had come up before taking a steep drop with Alexi in the warehouse when he’d shown Oliver the folder, when he’d talked about her so snidely, so dismissively; his disdain for Oliver’s position within the brotherhood was obvious, as was his general opinion of Americans, but having that directed at him was one thing. 

At Felicity… 

The desire only grew heavier when he realized how deep the Bratva’s interest in her went - it’d turned into a thick ugly simmer right beneath the surface of his skin when he’d stared at the information they’d gathered on her, at the realization of _how_ they had to have come by that information, what they had to have _done_ \- or how she blindly threw herself into the danger without thinking about the very real consequences of her involvement. 

Of what he’d have to do, what might happen to her… what _would_ happen to her if it didn’t work.

But she’d been safe. He’d had it under control, there was no way he was letting her go.

But then…

Oliver suddenly gripped his accelerator harder and his bike revved to life with a sharp kick. He caught Felicity’s quick inhale on the other side of the comm; he didn’t have to see into the heavily tinted windows of the town car to know that Felicity turned to look at him as he whipped past them where they were slowly making their way through traffic to Felicity’s apartment. Diggle sighed, both watching him shove his way through the stopped cars, bursting through the intersection to race ahead of them. 

They’d already discussed how this was going to play out - Diggle was going to keep Felicity in the car a couple blocks away on the south end while Oliver went ahead to do a sweep of the area; to make sure nobody was waiting for them…

For her.

The world blurred as he went faster.

He’d seen the way Felicity’s entire demeanor had changed when she’d been on the phone - how she’d frozen, the color draining so quickly from her face it’d left her looking sallow, highlighting the shadows under her eyes, the vivid contrast of her lipstick-stained lips making her look ghastly. Something had been wrong, very wrong… he knew it in his _gut_ that whatever she’d heard was bad, that things were going to get worse; he knew that he was willing to yank that phone out of her hands if she didn’t move, to demand to know what was going on, to know where the threat was coming from so he could protect her from it… but then she’d bounced back, giving him that smile of hers, the unwavering surety in her eyes… 

So he’d ignored it. 

Because he’d known she’d tell him if something _was_ wrong.

Except she hadn’t.

_“No, mom, you can call, but you don’t blow up my phone. And you ask, ‘Hey, Felicity, how are you?’ instead of leading the conversation wondering if I’ve met any Russians, that’s all I’m…_

_“It’s really not what you think it is…_

_“Psychic…”_

Oliver’s heart pounded against his chest plate so hard he felt it in his limbs; she wouldn’t have said anything, he was almost positive of it. Not to hurt him, but to _protect_ him, when she was the one in danger, when her mother was calling out of the blue to talk about _Russians_. His stomach churned with a vicious combination of anger and helplessness - he wanted her far away, so far away that the Bratva forgot who she was, not getting _closer_ \- and it’d only gotten worse since he’d agreed she had a point. It was her life, and it was her choice, even if it was the wrong fucking choice.

He knew she had a point, he wasn’t an idiot - he had been pushing her away, because he didn’t want her _tainted_ by any of it, he didn’t want her to know the person he had been… the person he was. It was selfish as hell, he didn’t need Diggle telling him that, but the thought of her looking at him differently…

And the last place she needed to be was anywhere near the brotherhood. It was the last place he wanted her, the last place she had any business being near… but it was also the only damn place she was intent on being, so intent he wanted to shove his fist through a brick wall.

Now she’d been in even _deeper_ , even more under their thumb than she already was.

Acid ate its way up his gullet, burning his throat.

He reached Felicity’s apartment a second later, whipping past it to park around the corner, his mind following through its sick merry-go-round to when she’d seen what was inside the folder.

_“Oh…”_

Her face when she’d seen the file had almost been too much. She looked like she’d stopped breathing as her bottom lip started to tremble, her eyes running over the page too fast to actually read anything… and it’d been so much worse when she’d seen the pictures, when she’d realized what the pictures were of, how intrusive they were, how _close_ they had to have been to take them. 

She’d looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to her foundations, and he’d wanted to throw up.

He knew what that felt like, to a degree - his entire life had been in the spotlight since he’d been born, from what he was wearing to what he was eating to who he was with to why his shoes were untied one night. Being the child of notorious and very prominent billionaires meant that most of his existence had been under a microscope since conception.

But this was a lot worse than nosy assholes with cameras.

Oliver clenched his jaw, breathing carefully through his nose, his comm off on his end as he slipped his helmet off, setting it down. He listened to the genial chit-chat between Digg and Felicity on the other end, honing in on the fine nervous tremble in Felicity’s voice that had been there ever since he’d handed her the folder.

Had she even realized it? Did she know how she’d shaken, how she’d blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay, how her voice quivered…

The closer they got to the apartment, the more chatter she generated - Oliver listened in as she explained to Diggle the ins and outs of her neighbor constantly wandering over to look for her cat as Diggle pulled the car to a stop, slipping it into park.

She was scared, as she had every reason to be… but she wasn’t letting it control her.

That was where they veered off wildly from each other; it completely terrified him while at the same time sent a streak of pride through his chest at how she was handling it. He knew, in a quiet logical place in the back of his mind, that she would handle it, like she handled everything, because she was the most even-keeled person he knew, more so because of her tendency to say whatever crossed her mind sometimes. She was everything Diggle had tried to tell him before, everything he already damn well knew about her...

But the fear…

The fear was a living, breathing thing in his chest, one that had only grown stronger since her quiet, _“I’m all in. Or I’m all out.”_

She’d squared her jaw, looking him straight in the eye - her breathing had been so heavy, her hair trembling slightly, her shoulders losing their structure as she’d given him her ultimatum - he’d never wanted to hug someone as much as he did then, when she’d stood her ground, almost as much as he did when she’d kneeled down on the floor, staring at pictures in bewildered shock. When her first concern had been about _him_ rather than herself, when she’d focused on skirts and jackets…

And then she’d told him to stop treating her like a couch.

Despite himself, his lips ticked up in a tiny smile. Anxiety had literally been clawing his stomach to shreds - he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything, anything that didn’t make him want to vomit it right back up - but then she did something so outlandish - _“…and I can’t have you treating me like I’m a couch”_ \- something that made him… smile.

It felt just as foreign as it had the few times one had graced his lips since she’d mentioned the Bratva to him.

Still…

The thought of her having to go anywhere near them, having to interact with him, having to be _subjected_ to what he would have to do… anywhere _near_ whoever was asking for her…

The thought of her going into all that _willingly_ , not giving a damn about her own safety when it was all he could think about…

Oliver wanted to kill something.

He scaled the side of Felicity’s building, pulling himself up over the roof with ease. He did a quick sweep, nothing anything that was different from the last several times he’d been around. Nothing looked out of place, suspicious or worrying, although he didn’t exactly have the proper foundation for that conclusion since he rarely ever came to Felicity’s apartment.

It was _Felicity_ , and this was _her_ place… they weren’t like that.

A wave of self-loathing accompanied that thought - this had been happening right under his nose. If he’d come by more often, would he have noticed? If he’d paid more attention? If he hadn’t been so caught up in his own crap, would he have noticed the men following her, taking her pictures, _stalking her_.

He’d had no reason to come to Felicity’s, he’d never even entertained the idea that he would need to intrude on her personal time… or that anyone else would think to come after her. 

_Not her_.

Oliver’s stomach soured even more than it already had as he slipped over the side of her building again, dropping to the ground with a sot grunt. He landed in a hard roll, melting into the shadows, making his way through a couple block radius.

After a minute, his comm clicked.

“Oliver?” Diggle asked, and Oliver reached up, switching his back on.

“Almost done,” he grunted through quick breaths, rounding the last corner, his eyes darting over everything… they instantly zeroed in on something that hadn’t been there before.

Rather, something that had _moved_.

Oliver came to a dead stop.

In the next second, instinct took over. He clicked his comm off as he stepped back, letting the heavy shadows swallow him up, turning him invisible. Every inch of attention was locked on the late-model, generic Chevy coupe parked a block past Felicity’s apartment.

It had been on the east side the last few times Oliver had been here.

He probably wouldn’t have noticed anything off about it - there were no assigned parking spots in Felicity’s complex or on the street, people’s cars moved - except now they were parked on the cusp of a streetlamp, letting him see how darkly tinted the windows were.

And the bare outline of a long camera lens through the windshield.

Oliver was moving before he could string two thoughts together.

He was at the car in the blink of an eye and slamming his elbow into the driver window in the next. It cracked with a sickening crunch as surprised muffled shouts came from inside. He didn’t pause, he didn’t take a second to evaluate the situation any further; Oliver was already ramming his elbow into it again. It gave, glass scattering everywhere.

_“Shto za chert?”_ a voice shouted.

_What the fuck?_

The sound of glass crunching under his boot and shattered tint film rasping against his leather was his response as Oliver reached in and punched the driver, the force so heavy something cracked in the guy’s jaw, knocking him out cold. An alarmed shout rattled through the cab and the passenger door flew open, another thick-necked thug spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Oliver caught the shine of the pistol in his hand, heard the telltale click of the hammer being drawn back, but he was already scrambling over the hood of the car to get to him.

The guy aimed the gun at him, barely getting out a, “Who the hell are you?” in his thick Russian accent before Oliver landed, yanking the barrel out of his face as he shoved his fist into the Russian’s throat. He staggered back, gagging for air, one hand flying to cover his throat while the other tried to ward Oliver off, but Oliver took a quick sidestep, ramming his boot into the Russian’s knee. It gave with an ugly crunch, the bone shattering as his entire leg turned inward.

The guy let out a strangled shriek, one that echoed against the buildings surrounding them, one that made something soar inside Oliver. The Russian fell to the ground, crying for mercy in Russian. When Oliver advanced on him again, he yelped and twisted, hands clawing at the sidewalk to crawl away, dragging his busted leg behind him, but he didn’t get far. 

Oliver kicked him viciously in the shoulder, shoving his face into the concrete, leaving a shiny smear of snot and tears before he kicked him over and rammed his boot into the Russian’s mottled face.

His nose broke with a wet snap, blood spurting out, but he wasn’t conscious to feel it.

It all happened in the space of a few seconds, and then… 

Silence.

The eerie stillness felt like a physical pressure pressing on his eardrums, drowning out the sound of his breathing and the blood rushing through him. Oliver stared at the still body before him, not moving for a long second… waiting.

But nothing happened. They were both out.

Oliver blinked, tearing his eyes away from the blood spatter all over the sidewalk, and looked around before looking up, scanning the windows, checking for lights or movement, but there was nothing. 

His eyes slowly dragged back to the man before him. Had he been there the entire time, watching her? Had he been the one to take the pictures, to sneak into her home to plant cameras… A rush of saliva flooded his mouth and Oliver clenched his fists. God, he wanted to…

No. He didn’t do that anymore, no matter how much they deserved it.

_“Find another way…”_

The desire didn’t go away.

The quiet was broken by the sound of a car down the street, and it spurned him into action.

Oliver quickly dismantled the gun, shoving the pieces into his jacket before pressing the button for his comm.

“We’re clear,” he said, his voice coming out in a low growl.

There was a slight hesitation on the other side from both of them, like they’d seen him, like Diggle wanted to ask what had happened, but instead he said, “Got it.”

Oliver switched the comm off again, taking another breath, staring down at the broken mess on the sidewalk. A thin trail of blood was starting to leak into a crack in the concrete, but the man was still breathing. For how long?

Something sharp suddenly yanked on the cuts in his hand. Oliver gasped, releasing the tight fist. His fingers were still white from the pressure, his knuckles aching from where they’d impacted against their faces; he’d hit them too hard, hard enough that he could have broken his own damn hand… but it hadn’t mattered.

Oliver ran his thumb over the large scabs and his nail caught an edge, yanking it open again, sending a tiny well of blood to the surface.

_Later._

It took Oliver all of a minute to shove the Russian back into the car before he did a thorough sweep of it. He pushed the driver into the backseat, feeling a dark pleasure when the guy landed on his face. The car was clean save for the camera, which he took, along with their wallets and phones. He checked their breathing, noting the Russian whose nose he’d broken was breathing a little too wetly, like blood was slipping down into his lungs… 

Oliver left him where he laid.

He locked the car and pocketed the keys before turning, heading back down the street, taking the long way back to Felicity’s apartment to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

_Again._

Oliver gritted his teeth. He wanted to go back and finish them off - it’d be so easy; he could feel what it would be like to grip one of their heads and twist it violently until their vertebrae snapped, or how easily the other’s windpipe would give with the slightest pressure - but he didn’t. 

Instead he let himself become more and more aware of Diggle and Felicity as they parked the car and made their way inside. This time she was describing the little remote in her pocket that would scramble any signals leaving anywhere within a twenty foot distance of it, effectively muddying the cameras so they could get in and out in case the feed was live and linked to someone else. 

The sound of her voice grounded him, and he felt the darkness slipping back into its place.

Felicity talked her way through each room, about a dirty cup she’d left in the sink, how dusty everything looked after just a few days, and that Diggle had been tidy the last time he’d been there. The tremor she’d had in the car on the way there seemed to have disappeared now that she was back in her space, a space that still _felt_ like hers, a space that didn’t have anything alarming waiting for her.

Oliver scanned the area one more time, mentally seeing what had been there a few minutes ago, and then yesterday, and the day before that, but everything was where it had been, where it was supposed to be.

He went inside.

Diggle stood in the living room, his back to a wall. The instant Oliver twisted the knob, his hand flew to the gun at his lower back, his face tense and quiet, not willing to alert Felicity to anything unless he absolutely had to. They both heard her continuing to talk - this time about the book piles she kept everywhere - as Diggle spotted him.

Diggle’s posture relaxed, but it didn’t last long when he saw the look on his face and the camera in Oliver’s tight fist; his broad shoulders instantly stiffened again. He glanced down the hallway once before switching his comm off.

“Trouble?” Diggle asked, keeping his voice low. 

Oliver only gave him a short nod. 

Diggle raised an eyebrow. “They alive?”

Oliver leveled him with a dark look. “Yes.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have cried over them,” Diggle said, and a cooling moment of understanding flowed between them, and Oliver finally let himself relax, just a little. 

Diggle might have choice words about how Oliver was handling this situation - it felt like it’d been ages since their talk in his office, since Diggle had told him point-blank that he was handling everything wrong - but there was one thing they both agreed on one hundred percent: Felicity’s safety was always their number one concern, and they’d both do anything to make sure nothing happened to her.

Oliver let the stagnant warmth in Felicity’s apartment relax him a little more. “They won’t be happy when they wake up.”

“Good,” Diggle said with a nod.

Oliver looked around, noting the entire lack of activity around them. 

She’d stopped talking, wherever she was.

The air was stale, evidence that Felicity hadn’t been coming in for a while, that nobody had been coming in. He glanced into the kitchen and then down the hall before looking at Diggle again. 

“Where is she?” he asked.

“Bedroom.”

“Is she…” Oliver paused, trying to find the right words… but there weren’t any. And he was the last person who should be asking, the last person who had any right to ask. “How’s she doing?”

Diggle gave Oliver a long look. “She’s shook up. Trying to hide it, but not doing a very good job of it.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Your timing earlier didn’t exactly help.”

“Yeah…” Oliver closed his eyes for a brief second, rubbing his forehead. “I am aware of that.” 

He sighed, trying to let his shoulders relax but they felt like bands of steel instead. He stood rigidly, his ears straining to hear what she was doing in her room; she’d spent the entire ride over there talking about anything and everything, but now she was quiet. He wanted to go find her, see her for himself, hear her voice in person, but he didn’t let himself move.

He ran his thumb over the cuts again, letting it distract him.

Diggle wisely chose to save the lecture for another time. 

After a moment of silence, Oliver finally looked at him. His voice was rough as he said, “It looked like those were the two who’d been following her. Did you see anything here last night?”

“No.” Diggle readjusted his jacket, his eyes scanning the room again, his body just as tense as Oliver’s, always ready. “But then again I didn’t know it was like this.” The ‘this’ was a barely veiled jab straight at Oliver’s jugular, one he ignored. “I know I wasn’t followed though, I did make sure of that.”

“Good.” 

Oliver nodded, his eyes drifting back to the hallway.

The silence coming from her room was becoming deafening. His fingers itched to hit his comm, to instigate something, to get her talking… or he could just walk down there, see her for himself… but he didn’t. He didn’t move. She was right, he _knew_ she was right; he was quickly straddling the line between concern and overbearing, but he just… he needed to see her. He just needed to hear her or see her, to wash away the image of the broken Russians from his mind, to erase the urge to hurt them for being anywhere near her, to get rid of the nervous tremor starting to build the longer she stayed quiet…

What if…

And then a soft rustle came from her bedroom, followed by the sound of her footsteps as she moved around. 

His shoulders instantly relaxed.

Oliver closed his eyes for a brief moment, nodding with a quiet, “Good,” as Diggle sighed, like he knew exactly what Oliver was feeling.

“We need to check out that call from her mom, Oliver.” And just like that, Oliver’s entire body stiffened again. “That psychic bull sounds exactly like that: bullshit.”

_Russians._

_Psychic._

_Nothing._

The familiar sting of anger flooded Oliver’s chest. For a moment, he’d forgotten about it; the rush of finding the Russians, of being here, of hearing her… it’d all faded and for a wild second, it’d just been… _nothing_. The last few days washed through him, everything that had happened stacking up in a morbid tower, one that was dangerously close to toppling.

Everything was spinning out of control - the second he managed to get a tiny grasp on something, when he thought he could manipulate it to his advantage, so he could save both the city and Felicity, be both the Arrow and Oliver Queen, Captain in the Russian mob… something else appeared, scattering the carefully laid equation so badly he wanted to scream.

And now her mom. 

Of course they needed to follow up on it, he was ashamed he hadn’t even thought about doing that. What if they’d found her? What if they were there now, hurting her? Or was it all really just a freaky coincidence as Felicity insisted?

His gut said no.

He hadn’t even _thought_ to look into it; he’d been so wrapped up in Felicity and her obscene desire to keep jumping into the fray…

He couldn’t escape the feeling that he was trying to hold too many things, trying to keep them from falling and smashing to the ground, but literally every second something new was being added to the pile.

_Damn it._

Oliver gritted his teeth with a quiet, “Yeah,” before something cracking caught both their attention. Diggle’s eyes dropped to the camera in Oliver’s hand before his eyes ticked back up to his as Oliver released his hold on the damn thing, reaching up, cupping the back of his neck so hard his fingers turned white.

“We’re gonna figure this out, man,” Diggle said softly.

“Yeah,” Oliver replied - it was the only thing he could think to say.

“I’ve got some people I can talk to that know some people in Vegas. They aren’t as good as Felicity, but they still know their stuff.”

Oliver lifted a wry eyebrow, giving Diggle a look. “A.R.G.U.S.?”

Diggle’s smirk was grave. “Lyla’s discreet.”

He wanted to argue - he was well aware of what A.R.G.U.S. was capable of, what Amanda Waller was capable of, and if she knew what her agents were doing on the side, if she knew anything about Felicity past that she was an associate of Oliver’s…

“Will she-”

“Oliver, I’ll handle this one. I think you’ve got more than enough on your plate with what’s happening here.”

“Diggle…”

“Oliver, I got it.”

They stared at each other. He knew Diggle had it, knew he was more than capable of it, but still… he couldn’t escape the need to do it all on his own, to _make sure_ it was done right, to keep everything so close to the vest just in case… to keep them both as far away from this as possible, to get the information so he could have the complete picture before he made a move.

His eyes ticked over to the hallway leading to Felicity’s room.

But she came first.

Always.

Oliver nodded his acquiescence, one that Diggle returned. 

“Could you…”

“Take care of Beavis and Butthead out there? Yeah.” Diggle gave Oliver a loaded look. “Take it easy on her.”

The last thing he would ever do, could ever do, was anything that would intentionally hurt Felicity, but he knew what the man was saying: _‘Just be there. And stop stowing your head in your ass with your dumbass intentions.’_

Oliver nodded.

Diggle clapped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze before he patted him on the back. 

And then he left, leaving Oliver standing in Felicity’s living room, alone, his body tense, gripping the camera tight enough all over again to crack the lens a little more.

Oliver closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He tried to hear what she was doing, but when he got nothing, he decided the best course of action was to give her a minute. He’d been more than breathing down her neck the last two days, something she’d been very vocal about - she didn’t like it. Not barging into the personal space her bedroom could at least go towards showing her he had heard her.

He looked around, this time really looking.

He’d never been inside her apartment before.

It was clean, but cluttered. She had stuff everywhere, color bursting from every single surface. Everything was so full, but it was also organized, like there was a system only she knew - it was so very Felicity. It even smelled like her. It was comfortable, easy, warm. There was a waft of her light perfume everywhere, the heavier musk from the candles on the counter, and… fake flowers.

Oliver stared at them. She didn’t seem like a fake flower sort of person; she was the person who went to the florist every Sunday so she could have a fresh batch of flowers nearby. The flowers seemed out of place amongst the rest of the _life_ that her apartment exuded. 

Although they were certainly practical for situations like this, when she wasn’t home for days on end.

Oliver rubbed one of the fake petals before turning back, noting the art on the walls, the patterned pillows, the jewelry laid out here and there, forgotten.

His eyes stopped on the Robin Hood poster over her TV.

It made him smile; it put him at ease.

Felicity _would_ have that.

He waited a few more minutes, studying the colorful canvas she had posted over her desk before his eyes ticked to her clock. 

It’d been six minutes since Diggle left.

Oliver turned back to the hallway, cocking his head, stepping into the entrance of the hallway.

Silence.

“Felicity?” he called, keeping his voice soft. Not even a rustle. “Felicity?”

No response.

Panic erupted in his chest.

Did Diggle do a sweep when they’d arrived? What if someone had been waiting in there? What if the signal disruptor wasn’t working, what if they’d seen the feed, what if they had sent others when they got no response from the two outside? What if there were others, outside, waiting?

A dozen possibilities rattled through his head, all of them ending with her not being there anymore - _no_ \- and Oliver didn’t give two shits about privacy anymore as he barreled down the hallway, shoving her door open, yelling, “Felicity!” It ricocheted off the wall, bouncing back at him; it slammed into the camera with enough forced that it cracked again.

A surprised sound came from behind him. 

Oliver spun, his heart stopping abruptly and starting up again at the same time when he saw her standing in the center of the tiny bathroom, still dressed in her coat and scarf, staring at him with wide eyes. She had a closed fist pressed to her chest, her body stiff, like she was ready to bolt, like someone had just pulled the fire alarm and her mind was scrambling to catch up with what that meant.

Relief swamped him so hard and fast it left him breathless as he stared at her for a moment, his eyes greedily taking her in. She was okay, she was fine… 

_She was okay._

Oliver spun back to the room, taking everything else in. His eyes flew from the piles of books next to the nightstand to the scattered clothes everywhere to the open and half-packed bag laying at the foot of her unmade bed and back to where she stood in the bathroom.

“What?” she asked, her voice sounding small. “What is it?”

“I didn’t…” Oliver glanced around again, feeling a tug of shame that was quickly drowned in a crash of protectiveness as he checked the window again, but nothing was amiss. He looked back at her. “You didn’t answer, I thought…”

“Oh. Okay,” Felicity said, nodding distractedly. She absently scratched her face before she pulled her clenched fist away from her breast and opened her hand, staring at whatever she held.

Oliver frowned. 

She looked… off.

“Felicity?” he asked, slowly closing the distance between them.

“Yeah?”

She still didn’t look up.

Oliver’s stomach sank as he took her in. 

It was hitting her, and it was hitting her hard. He didn’t have to see the fine tremble in her shoulders to know that her pulse was probably racing, that her breathing was shallow, that the full scope of everything was finally slamming into her.

God, he’d give anything to take it away, to take it on himself, to spare her, to go back to a few days ago when none of this had been hovering over them. To when their biggest worry had been about Sara’s appearance, the fact that she wasn’t dead, that Moira was facing murder charges for over five hundred people… that all suddenly seemed so _manageable._

_This_ was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to tell her.

“Are you alright?” he whispered.

She made a noise, a very distinct noise.

Oliver stepped into the bathroom. A screwdriver and a rusty screw sat on the counter. A dusty footprint of her flat was on the toilet cover, and the vent near the ceiling was half-unscrewed, hanging pitifully from the remaining screw.

_They’d watched her, watched her everywhere… in her living room, in her bathroom…_

Ice unfurled in his gut when he realize what she’d been looking for, what she was looking at.

In the center of her palm was a small camera, the size of a pushpin. It was unassuming, sitting there, a tiny red light flashing every few seconds.

A vicious mixture of rage and the possessive need to slam his fist into somebody’s faced crashed through his chest.

He didn’t have to imagine the two Russians from outside in there, touching as little as possible, leaving absolutely nothing behind to alert Felicity to the fact that they’d come in, that they’d stolen her privacy from right under her nose, that they’d lived her life with her, shadowing her, spying on her…

“I found this… in the vent,” she said, her voice soft with wonder, pulling him out of his blood-covered thoughts. She nodded at her hand before turning to look at the hole in the wall. “Obviously.” After a second, she looked back down at the camera. “It was just sitting in there… pointing at the counter.” She gestured to where Oliver stood, a weird look in her eye as she talked her way through it. “Like it was no big deal, like it’d always been there, like they’d always been…

“ _Watching_.”

Her voice cracked.

Oliver closed his eyes, clenching his jaw, anger and grief clashing together - grief that this was happening to her, anger that he hadn’t done anything about it, that he’d let it happen. 

It made his skin feel way too tight as he set the broken camera on the counter where she’d just pointed and took a step closer.

Like his movement unlocked something inside her, Felicity reached into her pocket and pulled out another one, an exact duplicate, and held it up for his inspection.

“This one was in my room. My bedroom, not the… I didn’t look in the other rooms, but this one… this one was in my bedroom, under…” She swallowed, waving her hand around, trying to imitate where she’d found it, trying to find the words. “The top part, the lip part, of my dresser. You know that part that sticks out and stabs you in the hip when you walk too close to it? That part. It was… I mean, that’s where…” 

She paused and then she suddenly looked up at him and his heart clenched at the unshed tears shining back at him.

“Why would they need to see my bed, Oliver?” Her voice got smaller as she looked back down at the camera. “Why do they need to see what I’m doing in my bedroom?”

“Felicity,” Oliver whispered, his voice belying the anger churning back to life in the pit of his chest at the thought of them in there, planting these… _watching her_ , watching her sleep, watching her move, watching her do anything and everything.

“Oliver, I don’t…”

Oliver closed his hand around hers, squeezing it tightly, and she looked back up at him. His entire being ached at the wet tear tracks on her cheeks, her eyes wet and red from holding her tears back, her mascara smudged from rubbing her lids.

She let out an ironic chuckle. “I guess the real question is why do they need to see anything about me at all, right?” The tremor that had disappeared when she’d first come slowly leaked back into her words. “I mean, I’m just a nobody. A really normal, boring girl who is so not worth this much trouble.”

“You’re not a nobody,” Oliver replied, holding her hand tighter, wanting to take the camera and smash it to bits.

“No,” she said with vehemence. “I am. That’s why this doesn’t make sense, Oliver. I haven’t done anything to them. Why me? Why are they expending this much energy on me?” She held up the camera. “I mean, do you know how expensive these little things are?” 

The question caught him off guard and he paused, furrowing his brow.

Did he…?

A disbelieving chuckle escaped him before he could stop it. Only she would…

Felicity looked at him again, a thin line of incredulity appearing between her eyes at the strange noises he was making, and just as quickly as the amusement had come on it faded at the look on her face. 

It disappeared completely when a tear leaked from the corner of her eye, and he stepped closer to her, wanting nothing more than to hide her, to take away the pain, to find the ones doing this to her and.. _hurt them_.

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice cracking again as she waved the camera. “These are _really_ expensive.”

“I believe you,” he whispered. 

Felicity looked back at the camera and another tear slipped from her eye. 

The wall he’d been keeping up since Alexi had handed him that damn folder, since he’d seen how far they’d looked into her, since he’d known what it meant when they expended those kinds of resources… it cracked, crumbling apart as he watched her fight to keep it together. She closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath, causing another tear to slip down her cheek.

If he hadn’t known it before, he knew it now: he would do anything for her, do anything to make this stop.

“Hey,” Oliver said softly, squeezing her tiny fist in his even tighter as his free hand came up, cupping her cheek. He wiped the tear away with his thumb, rubbing the tender skin under her eye gently. “I will not let anything happen to you, Felicity.” 

She gave him a watery smile, sending another tear sliding down her cheek, and he caught that one as well as she said, “You keep saying that like I don’t believe you.”

“I need to believe it too.”

She stared at him, the bathroom light reflecting off her tears making her eyes her eyes look painfully luminous. The paleness she’d been carrying around since she’d seen the pictures slowly colored with a light blush, the pink making her blue eyes stand out even more.

She was beautiful.

He’d always known she was gorgeous - the light she carried with her, the light she shined on everyone around her only made her more gorgeous, but in that moment… she was _beautiful_. He wanted nothing more than to keep the shadows away from her, but when she stood before him, like she was, holding herself together but still giving herself a moment to be _human_ , to feel and accept what was happening to her before she moved on to the next stage, of figuring out what happened next, of finding the person poking ugly holes in her life… despite her the very real fear, she was holding her ground.

“You are remarkable, Felicity,” he said softly, holding her hand tighter in his hand where they were still pressed between them.

Her breath hitched.

“Thank you for remarking on it,” she replied, and a thin smile tugged at his lips at the callback. 

They’d barely known each other then, neither having any idea what was in store for them, what door they were slowly inching open. Even then he’d known what kind of person she was, from the second she’d looked right through his pathetic lies, looking through _him_ , knowing more about him than anyone else had had the chance since he’d stepped off that fishing boat from Lian Yu. It’d caught him off guard, and yet… he hadn’t been able to stay away from her.

And she still continued to surprise him.

Her eyes were hooded, her lips swollen from gnawing on them, parting with a soft breath. The fear and bravery staring back at him made his stomach clench. She was scared, yes, but she wasn’t going to back down, especially now… Oliver’s lungs burned as he thought about what waited for her this weekend - _for them_ \- and the weight of what _could_ happen, what _would_ happen.

And yet…

He knew she had every reason to be upset with him after the last few days, and she’d more than expressed it to him, and yet… the way she was looking at him, the utter trust in her eyes.

God, he hoped he didn’t fail her.

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

He didn’t want to know what he would do without her.

He didn’t want to know what he would do to anyone who dared lay a finger on her.

Oliver clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, his hand sliding into her hair. Oliver cupped the back of her neck and pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her forehead.

Felicity tensed for a split second, stilling as she stopped breathing, stopped everything… and then she relaxed, completely, letting out a heavy sigh against him. She leaned in, pressing closer, trapping their hands between them as her other found his jacket pocket, gripping it tightly… gripping _him_ tightly.

It lasted five seconds and five hours at the same time. He was suddenly back in the foundry, back when she’d snuck in, when she’d been wearing that tiny sweatshirt, smacking her jaw with her tablet… back when she’d snuggled in his arms as he’d carried her to the cot, holding her closely, relishing in the fact that she wasn’t pulling away…

It was these moments, these tiny little moments that made everything feel like it was okay… if just for a second.

Neither moved, letting him take a moment to revel in the fact that she was _here_ , and she was alive and alright; that things had been so off between them, because of him, that it had all nearly exploded in his face a mere hour ago, and yet she was letting him in again, letting him hold her, for his sake as much as hers. He didn’t want to stop and think about what it meant, he didn’t want to examine the warmth blossoming in his chest or how right she felt there…

For those few seconds it was just them, with nothing hanging over their heads like an idle bomb waiting to go off…

It was just them, like always.

Oliver slowly pulled back, but he didn’t let her go as she dipped her head before looking up at him.

“Thank you,” Felicity said.

Oliver furrowed his brow. “For what?”

“For being here,” she replied, giving him a small smile. “It makes me feel better. A lot better.”

“Felicity…” Oliver smiled as he took her in, her words making him feel a hundred times better. “I will always be here.”

She gave him a quick series of nods as the fist he held suddenly squeezed, and he knew her mind was slipping back to the cameras. She pinched her lips and took a deep breath, and he watched the resolve wash over her. 

Felicity looked down at her hand where it was buried in his… and the one gripping his pocket tightened involuntarily. 

“So…” she started.

Their comms both clicked back to life.

“I’m about five minutes out,” Diggle said, his voice shattering the bubble. 

They stepped back at the same time, releasing each other. He’d forgotten about the comms - his was off, but Felicity’s… for some reason the fact that Diggle had obviously heard everything made it more solidified, more real.

And that was _unsettling_.

This was _Felicity_ , and she was in danger - her life depended on the moves they made in the next few days.

What the hell was he doing?

Felicity wiped her eyes as Oliver clicked his comm back on and said, “We’ll be ready.”

“Roger that.”

“Roger,” Felicity repeated, her voice shaky, but stronger than before. It grew stronger as she wiped her face and said, “I’ve always wondered who Roger was.” She met his eyes again. “Where’d John go?”

Oliver almost opened his mouth and told her, _“Nowhere,”_ \- he’d had to take care of something, he was going to be right back, it was nothing for her to worry about, he needed to trust him to take care of things, she didn’t want to know… but he stopped himself. Instead he bit the tip of his tongue as she waited, a familiar wariness staring to creep across her features, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, what he’d been about to say.

_The truth._

She was right.

All in, or all out.

And there was no way in _hell_ he was letting her out of his sight, much less _out_ altogether. 

“There were two Russians,” he said. “Waiting in a car about a block from here, watching your apartment.”

Felicity’s eyes widened. “… Oh.” She shifted in her jacket, wrapping an arm around her middle. “Were?”

Oliver’s fingers actually twitched to hold her again, to feel her relax, to let her lean on him like she had. 

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t…”

Oliver shook his head, hoping she didn’t hear the undercurrent of regret as he said, “No.”

He left out the part that they would have more than deserved it, that everyone in the Bratva had done something to deserve it… that the world would’ve been a better place without them… that he wouldn’t have felt a damn thing but satisfaction if he’d given in…

“Good,” Felicity said. “I don’t want you doing… _that_ , for me. Especially for me, I’m not…” 

Oliver frowned, the words catching him off guard - he was quickly learning that when it came to Felicity Smoak, he was willing to do that and so much more. 

“You’ve been working so hard to do better, I meant, to not be what the Hood was with the, uh…” She waved her hand. “You know. Especially because of what happened with Tommy, and…”

“Felicity, stop,” Oliver said, grabbing her hand, dipping his head to meet her eye. “There’s never a choice, not ever. When it comes to your safety… there is no choice.” She just blinked up at him, her eyes softening. He gave her a gentle smile, squeezing her hand to emphasize his words, before letting her go. He nodded to the bathroom. “Are you done in here?”

“Uh… yeah. Yes,” she said. His eyes followed her as she glanced at the cameras she held. “I was thinking I could run a trace on these, see where the feed’s going.”

“They’re off?”

Felicity nodded, putting them both in one palm. She pushed them with her finger, like they were science experiments instead of highly advanced technology that had been used to spy on her.

Oliver picked one up. It looked more like a slim black washer than a camera. He stared at the flashing red light, knowing the only thing keeping anyone from watching her was the little remote she was carrying. That simple thought brought the crush of anger back to the fore.

“Do you need both of them?” 

Felicity frowned, her eyes on the camera he held. “Well… if we’re assuming they’re both going to the same place, which would be the logical assumption, then I guess not, no, but we should…”

Oliver dropped it, cutting her off, and crushed it under his boot. It shattered into tiny black bits that scattered all over the floor.

“Oliver!” Felicity said, slapping his arm. “Do you realize what you… do you know how much that thing _cost_? What it could _do_? Why would you…”

“It was a message.”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “A message? A message that you’re trying to give me a heart attack by crushing perfectly good tech that could have led us to these guys, or that I maybe could’ve used at some point in the future? Was that the message, because if it was, you did a great job.”

A ghost of a smile skated over his lips - it was his Felicity staring back at him, his Felicity admonishing him for crushing a little camera, his Felicity looking at him the same way she always did when she was exasperated with him.

“Now they know they can’t watch you anymore,” he replied.

Felicity made a face. “You could’ve written that on the wall with lipstick, Oliver, you didn’t need to _crush_ the camera.”

Despite himself, he gave her a wider smile before looking around. “Are you done in here?”

“You…” She made a little sound of aggravation at him before slipping the other camera protectively into her pocket. “No more smashing things that don’t need to be smashed. And yes, I am, I don’t think…” And then she noticed the other camera - the much bigger camera - and that same paleness was back. “Is that…”

“I pulled it off the Russians,” Oliver said. 

Her lips formed a tiny ‘o.’ She stared at it like it might jump right off the counter and attack her… and then she squared her shoulders and reached out to pick it up. She twisted it as she examined it, and Oliver noticed just as she did the giant crack across the lens, and that the digital screen was smashed in a series of tiny spider web cracks. She tried to turn it on, but it was more than dead. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he just stared back at her, giving her the answer she needed.

“Alright then,” she said. She tucked it under her arm. “We’ll take this too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews literally feed my soul and muse, please let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!


	10. Heavy thoughts tonight, and they aren’t of snow white… (64 hours before the gala…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The response to this fic has been absolutely out of this world. The encouragement and excitement during NaNoWriMo and just in general makes my days so much brighter! I will be continuing to focus on this story at this pace, using Pacemaker, until it’s finished - NaNo is done, but that 50k accounted for approximately three and a half chapters! There’s so much more story to tell!
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me - for reading, for the kudos, comments, favorites, follows, tweets, reblogs, asks, etc. They mean _so much_!
> 
> A huge thank you to Margaret (teawhovian/TeaWithLemon) for her beta work and her support. This story wouldn't be nearly as amazing without her help.

The first thing Felicity was aware of when she realized she was waking up was that her mouth was full of cat fur. It coated her tongue and teeth, falling all the way down her throat, and it tasted _horrible_.

She smacked her lips, slowly opening her eyes, reaching to her nightstand for the water she always kept there. 

The only time she woke up like this was when she was sick or spent the night sleeping with her mouth hanging open, and that only happened when she was so exhausted that the only thing that mattered was getting rest, which she knew she’d needed.

Her nightstand wasn’t where she’d left it.

Felicity slowly opened her eyes, blinking at the green ceiling, vaguely seeing thin plumes of steam before they dissipated.

Green ceiling.

Steam that looked like drunk clouds.

No water.

 _Foundry_.

“Right,” she croaked, falling back onto the cot. She wasn’t at home. She was in the foundry, although _how_ she’d gotten there was escaping her. Sleep fogged her thoughts and instead of fighting her way out of it, she shifted on the makeshift bed, curling up on her side, frowning when she felt the crinkly weight of the black skirt she’d had to put on earlier after spilling her coffee. Or was it yesterday? What time was it? And when had she fallen asleep? When had they gotten back from her apartment?

 _Her apartment_.

The tiny blinking red light in vent in her bathroom.

The one under her dresser.

The fake flowers she _knew_ she hadn’t put there, the ones she’d only noticed when she’d been looking for something _off_ in the living room, before she’d even realized what exactly she’d been looking for. There hadn’t been a camera in them, not one she could find. They’d just… been there.

Which was so much more creepy than if they had had a camera.

How long had they been there? How could she have not noticed something like that? How could she have not noticed any of it - being followed, the cameras, the little lights…

And then the Russians outside, watching her apartment, watching _her_.

Felicity settled back on the cot, staring at the vapers rolling over the ceiling, fighting the roll of nausea as the night before filtered through her head.

_“She has been identified as a valuable commodity, Mr. Queen, one you now claim as your own. You must bring her to the gala, as proof.”_

Identified as a valuable commodity… by who, for what?

And _why_?

Felicity shuddered, sitting up. She swung her legs off the cot and when her bare feet landed on the cold ground, she flinched with a hiss. She glanced around quickly, the world fuzzy without her glasses, seeing the bag she’d packed sitting next to the one Digg had gotten for her, along with her shoes and jacket. She was still wearing the clothes from after her shower the night before, the skirt painfully wrinkled and stiff, and her phone was on the box next to the cot. She grabbed it, clicking it on. It was a little after four in the morning.

Had she fallen asleep in the car?

Was Oliver there? 

Thinking about Oliver made her think about her apartment, which made her think about how warm his hand had been wrapped around hers, how open his eyes had been as he’d talked her back from the panic attack she’d been percolating in before he’d nearly busted her bedroom door right off its hinges. 

The way he’d looked at her, the softness and worry in his eyes, the very real fear she was only really beginning to understand, it’d made her chest feel like it was going to implode. And like he could see it, he’d slid his hand back into her hair, making her shiver before he’d pressed his lips to her forehead.

The memory made her heart trip and she frowned, scrubbing her face.

She’d been alone, she’d felt so alone, staring at that camera, and even knowing that Digg had been out in the living room, giving her her space, it hadn’t filled the ragged hole opening up inside her as she’d watched the blinking red light, thinking of all the times she’d gone to the bathroom, she’d done her makeup, she’d showered; all the times she’d wandered around naked, when she’d tried on clothes or talked to herself or… other _stuff_ … 

“God,” Felicity whispered, digging her fingers into her forehead.

What about all the times she’d fallen asleep, feeling safe and secure when in reality she hadn’t been in the least?

The longer she’d stared at the camera, the bigger the bathroom suddenly felt, the smaller she grew, the more she felt like someone was sitting on her chest, suffocating her, a faceless person commanding masses, masses who spent all their time watching her.

But then Oliver had been there.

What she should be thinking about was how the Russian mob had stolen a perfectly good opportunity for her to enjoy the fact that Oliver Queen had been in her bedroom, looking larger than life, his eyes fierce and sharp, face taut with tension and strength as he’d looked around, ready to pounce on anything that didn’t belong.

When books compared men to Greek gods, she might have once or twice considered Oliver in the Adonis category, because he was, by definition, _gorgeous_ , but in that moment, she’d seen what people who were on the other side of his bow saw. He was more like Ares, danger emanating off him in waves, his intent when he found his target very clear - he was very capable and very willing to destroy everything in his path.

But there’d been nothing sexual or tantalizing about that moment at all. 

No, he’d been the only solid thing in a world that was currently falling apart and the second he’d touched her, whispering comforting words, all the terrifying edges she’d seen when he’d busted in disappearing in the blink of an eye when his attention turned on her - he’d tugged her back down to earth, grounding her, standing strong when she’d told him about the cameras; he was the one thing she could lean on, and she had, and he’d accepted every bit of the weight of what was happening that she’d passed over to him.

She always felt safe with Oliver, she always had - if she was being honest, it was about eighty percent of why she hadn’t taken the so-called threats very seriously because as long as Oliver was there, she knew nothing would happen, and last night had only reinforced that.

Felicity looked around, seeing the cold, hard lines of the steel, the freezing concrete floor, the dank air. The foundry wasn’t a home; it wasn’t a place of comfort, not like her apartment. That feeling had been stripped away the second she’d seen those pictures, the second she’d found that camera, and she missed it, she really, really missed it, and she really needed it.

There was nothing like the comfort of going home after a long day, when you needed to just let go in a place where you knew you could, where you could just drop and you knew you’d be safe.

She didn’t have that place anymore; her home had been yanked right out from underneath her.

Oliver had given her that feeling. Last night, when he’d been standing over her, holding her, reassuring her, he’d given her that feeling, and she wanted it back, that feeling of security and reassurance she’d felt in his arms, of knowing nothing would happen to her as long as he was there…

… and what the _hell_ was she thinking? 

She was just losing her freaking mind, no big deal. One night of insanity and suddenly she was equating Oliver to… she didn’t even _know_. She just knew that he’d made her feel safe, and of course he had, the second he’d decided he wasn’t holding anything back anymore, he definitely wasn’t, from the pictures to the Russians waiting outside her apartment.

He and Diggle were her friends, and they were the one thing that was remaining consistent ever since all this had come up.

That was _it_. 

“It,” Felicity breathed, rubbing her forehead, trying to push the thoughts back in where they belonged. “Is way too early for these heavy thoughts.”

She was up, she might as well go do _something_. Something _else_ at least, since she clearly couldn’t be trusted to think along normal, sane lines.

She didn’t react well to stress, obviously. Actually no, she reacted to stress very well, but not this kind of stress. If this were about anyone else, she’d be all over it, she knew it. But it was _her_ , and it was not the same. 

Rubbing her hands on her thighs, Felicity stood up.

Oliver was there, he had to be there. 

She felt strangely unsettled not knowing where he was, that the last time she’d seen him had been in the car.

He’d stayed close as she’d finished packing, his head on a constant rotation, reacting to every little noise. A few hours earlier it would’ve driven her absolutely crazy, but having him right behind her the entire time, knowing he was keeping an eye on her, knowing he’d stop anything that might happen, it’d made her feel safe, and it’d been the only thing letting her actually relax in-between the mini attacks of mind-numbing fear.

She could still feel him, when he’d wrapped his hand around hers, when he’d cupped her cheek.

Her neck burned where his fingers had touched, feeling the soft press of his lips to her forehead…

_“I need to believe it too.”_

He was scared for her, and that should have her freaking out a little more than she was because Oliver being that scared of _anything_ wasn’t a good thing, but it’d only made her feel safer.

He’d carried her bags out for her when Diggle had pulled up, stacking them neatly in the trunk before his hand had grazed her shoulder, stopping her when she’d headed towards the front. Instead he’d opened the back door for her, his hand dropping down to her lower back, urging her in.

And then he’d climbed in behind her.

_“But your bike…?”_

_“I’ll get it later.”_

She remembered the silence that had followed, the severe adrenaline drop she’d experienced, knowing deep in her heart that the only reason her body had been calming down was because Oliver was there. She remembered looking at Oliver, watching him as he’d looked out the window, frowning when she heard the coarse rasp of his thumb rubbing over the deep cuts along his fingers.

She’d stared at his fingers, her own itching to grab his hand, to ask him how he’d gotten them, how he was even involved in all this, how he knew any of it was happening. Maybe it’d been the entire lack of sleep she’d been getting, or the frustration and anger she’d been harboring deep in the pit of her stomach the longer he’d shut her out, or maybe it was that everything had finally come to a head, or maybe she’d just been _done_ with all the pretenses they’d been masquerading under… whatever it was, she’d been ready to force him to sit down and tell them everything. There was so much he wasn’t telling them, so much, and she respected that, she did… but this was different.

Her body had obviously had other things in mind, because the next thing she remembered was darkness.

With a groan, Felicity grabbed her glasses and slipped them on, standing on stiff legs, lurching towards her bags. Her pajamas from the night before were folded neatly on top and she grabbed them, only caring about getting into something more comfortable before she ventured out.

As she unzipped her skirt, the material falling to her feet in a messy pile, she felt herself waking up more.

Her first thought was coffee.

Her second thought was about how _real_ it all suddenly felt.

She knew it was real, of course it was real, but actually _seeing_ it, seeing the cameras, knowing they’d gone through her personal space to hide them… it all chased her back to why this was happening, _why her_. Was it connected to the gala on Saturday, was the person who was doing all this going to be there? Or the _people_ , if there were more, and oh god, that was an unsettling thought on top of a pile of unsettling thoughts. Or was it separate, something else totally unrelated? 

Coincidences were fun happenstance things, not life-threatening ‘hide-cameras-in-your-bathroom-to-watch-all-the-time’ things. 

Folding her skirt, Felicity grabbed a sweater and tugged it on before heading out to find Oliver. 

The coincidences - coincidences or not - didn’t change the fact that the gala was still going to take place, that the Russian mob was going to open nightclubs in Starling City, that there were more than a few signs and indications that they were looking to spread their evil illegal activity tendrils there.

It didn’t change the fact that innocent people were still in danger. 

The Bratva were already there, already setting up shop, already making plans. She couldn’t just sit back and do nothing, not when other people’s lives depended on it.

It did nothing to lessen the fear strangling her lungs.

Felicity took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

The foundry was dark and quiet save for the familiar hiss of steam, giving her no clue if Oliver was there. She wasn’t even sure where he’d been sleeping since she’d taken his cot. There were only so many places though. Gnawing on the tip of her tongue, she made her way around until she found a small folded up area of blankets, like a makeshift pallet on the ground near the bathroom.

It was empty, no sign of Oliver.

He’d been sleeping here? 

Guilt flashed through her. Why hadn’t she just gone to the mansion? It’d seemed so important to her, when he’d first brought it up, that she wasn’t seen anywhere near him like that, that _more_ people didn’t think she and Oliver were having some illicit affair… that really had been the main issue, because some of the things she heard flying through the rumor mill at work were downright gut-punching, but really, the thought of being in Oliver’s house like that didn’t sit well with her.

Being _in his house_? Where he slept? Where he lived? With his mother and his sister? That felt like it was crossing a line, a line that she didn’t want crossed. Because if that line was crossed, then she’d find herself inadvertently slipping deeper into Oliver’s life, into a world she had no business in because he was Oliver freaking Queen and she was Felicity freaking Smoak. She was in the Arrow’s world, the Oliver who’d come back from Lian Yu a year ago, she was in that man’s life, but Oliver Queen? The man who had a house full of people who cleaned up after him and cooked for him and where she’d have to possibly run into Moira Queen?

 _Nope_. 

And, at the time, she’d thought he was overreacting just a smidge - it hadn’t been such a big deal.

Now it was.

And as a result, Oliver was sleeping on the floor.

Because of her.

“Oliver?” Felicity called, but her voice was barely loud enough for her to hear.

Everything he was doing was for her. 

She’d _known_ that, on some level, but now the knowledge had more weight.

But what did it mean for him? He’d _claimed_ her, he’d said she was his, which had been a weird thought in the first place, but now it was even more intense. She was his, which meant she was off-limits to whoever was watching her - no, not _watching_. They were _stalking her_ , and now she’d dragged Oliver into it.

The thought of going into the gala where the majority of the guests were Russian Mafia was slightly more terrifying than it had already had been. 

Her stomach clenched, fear turning her mouth sour. What if they all knew? What if they all knew who was watching her and why, and they all saw her there, and what if something happened to Oliver because he was with her? What if that meant they couldn’t go anywhere when they did get there, what if they couldn’t find the people doing this…

What if she made it worse? What if they got caught? What if _he_ got hurt or, worse, _killed_?

All because of her?

Her heart seized, and the need to find him - to at least _see_ him, to make sure he was okay - became a little more frantic.

“Oliver?”

If she didn’t go, if Oliver didn’t go and they didn’t find what’s-his-face - _Vasily Ikashev_ \- and the clubs went ahead, could they stop them after? Those clubs were just the ones they knew about, who knew how many more there were, who knew what those empty shipments earlier in the week actually meant. What if they’d already started _production_? 

The thought left her stomach feeling like ice, but it also hardened her resolve. They had to do _something_ ; they couldn’t just sit back because she’d gotten added to the ‘In Danger’ list. Besides, her presence had already kind of been requested, it’d be rude to turn it down. It wasn’t like she wanted _more_ enemies in the Bratva, if that was even what she had in the first place.

The foundry was ominously quiet. 

“Oliver?” she tried again, raising her voice, and when she paused, waiting to hear _something_ \- him answering, at least - she frowned.

Was he not there?

Ignoring the weird pitch in her chest at the thought that she was alone, Felicity reached the main area, her computers still on from before they’d gone to her apartment. She flipped the generators on, a loud groan sounding before the lights flickered to life with quick buzzes.

The lights didn’t bring him out either.

Where’d he go?

Felicity bit her lip, looking around again, before letting out a heavy huff of air and rolling her eyes at herself.

She was being ridiculous. It seemed to be the theme of the night. Or the morning, as it were. Whatever.

She was perfectly safe there, she knew that, and Oliver knew that.

It didn’t make the need to at least _see_ him lessen any, but she pushed it down, because _ridiculous_.

Blinking against the harsh fluorescents, Felicity padded over to her desk and paused when she saw the cameras from her apartment set out neatly next to one keyboard, along with the camera Oliver had taken off the Russians. It was still just as shattered as it had been the night before. 

She picked the camera up, her fingers shaking slightly as she twisted it in her hands. It was unsettling, to say the least, knowing she was touching something that someone who’d spent their time watching _her_ had been touching. 

She found the memory card compartment and flipped it open, pulling the little plastic card out. She stared at it, half expecting it to jump up and tell her everything she needed to know, but it remained silent.

Tiny and silent.

Like the cameras that had been stashed in her apartment.

Little camera ninjas, holding secrets and being sneaky.

“Okay,” she said, setting the camera and memory card down. “My early morning thoughts are even more bizarre than normal, and that’s saying something. I might be sleep-drunk… which actually kinda makes sense since I got more sleep than I have in the last few days combined.”

Felicity tapped the keyboard and each computer screen flickered to life. The searches on her name were still running. She quickly scrolled through what had come up, but there was nothing there she didn’t already know about, and they were still going, still combing through data from every conceivable place on the planet.

She could start a trace on the camera feeds, narrow the signal down.

She could get what she could off the memory card and start a back trace on that.

She could hack into the cameras at the street corners around her apartment and find the men who’d been watching her, maybe track them down through the license plate.

There was a lot she could do… but she didn’t _want_ to do any of it.

Felicity tapped the top of her chair, tugging her lip into her mouth, looking around. She was _antsy_. Nervous energy thrummed through her system, making her limbs feel shaky and uneven where she stood. It was like actually getting more than two hours of sleep - uninterrupted sleep at that, she’d slept like a rock - had revealed all the extremely unnecessary reserves of energy she’d clearly been hoarding.

It didn’t help that she didn’t know where Oliver was.

It also didn’t help that it wasn’t the kind of energy she could funnel into anything she usually did.

She kind of wanted to _hit_ something. So much had happened in such a short period of time she still felt like she was reeling, like the world had fallen off its axle and had taken her along for the ride. It wasn’t the usual kind of crazy either; it had an entirely different feel, a different hue.

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Felicity wandered over to the training area. 

Had Oliver gone out? Where? Another secret meeting with the Bratva he conveniently forgot to mention? No, he wouldn’t do that. Or if he had, she knew he’d tell them when he got back. 

The certainty behind that thought was a little shocking.

She’d seen the hesitancy on his face when she’d asked about the camera, the internal struggle between wanting to protect her and wanting to be honest, to do as he’d promised her he would when she’d, to put it kindly, bitten his head off.

He’d chosen the truth.

Still, at four in the morning?

Pausing in front of one of the training dummies, the few still left standing since Oliver’s aggravation had neatly destroyed the others, she cocked her head.

“What’s so great about these things anyway?” Felicity whispered, pushing her fist against it. 

It didn’t budge. 

It was heavy, a giant block of wood wrapped in what looked like training tape. She’d watched Oliver pound on one of these things, going at it full strength and it’d withstood the assault. How had he actually broken one of these?

“It’s just a big piece of wood, it doesn’t even bounce back like those inflatable punching bag things.” She nudged it. “Not even interactive…” 

Felicity pushed on it again, harder this time, and it still didn’t budge.

Clenching her jaw, Felicity pushed on it again with more force, and when it barely budged again, she scowled at it. Its blank face just stared at her, mocking her, and before she could think twice, Felicity pulled her arm back and punched it.

The dull thud of her fist landing echoed through the foundry.

She didn’t feel even a _little_ better.

Widening her stance, Felicity punched it again, and when it just rocked slightly, she grunted under her breath, and punched it again, and again.

Alright, a _little_ better…

Alternating her fists, Felicity punched the living crap out of the dummy, as much living crap as she was capable of. Her arms started to burn, her fists growing sore and agitated, but she didn’t stop. 

She wanted to keep going, she wanted to take all the frustration she felt stewing deep in her chest and shove it out, shove it into the dummy, let the dummy help her carry the burden…

But it wasn’t _working_.

She didn’t have a face to put to the frustration, a person to gear her anger towards. Someone wanted her, but she didn’t know who, or why, or what they’d do once they got her. She felt like it was hindering the fact that she was supposed to be _helping_ Oliver help the city, not being the thing he was supposed to save; both she _and_ Oliver were supposed to do the saving, to go through with the plan, to save the other girls who were very likely already in danger or maybe taken, but instead they were hindered by this _hiccup_. Her hiccup. She was the hiccup, and she didn’t know how or why she’d become the hiccup.

Felicity punched the block of wood, grunting with each hit, but it didn’t _do_ anything. 

“I. Don’t. Like. Being. The. Hic. Cup.”

She didn’t feel the release she sought, the freedom from the anger and fear… no, all it was doing was making her more frustrated, making her hit it harder. A tiny sound escaped her throat as she hammered the training dummy, feeling the tearing on her knuckles, the burn growing worse, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop hitting; she wanted to make the frustration that had been building with Oliver, with the Bratva, with the entire stupid thing just _go away_.

She didn’t hear him. 

She didn’t hear the clang of the metal door opening and closing, or the racket of his gait coming down the stairs. She didn’t feel the shift in the air from the cold night slipping in or feel his eyes on her when he stopped to watch her.

Her concentration had slipped from trying to see the something she was hitting to the sharp sting of her knuckles against the hard wood.

“Hey.”

Felicity jumped with a sharp, “Oh my god!” She spun, her back slamming into the dummy, her hands flew to her chest as her eyes flew to him. “Oh my god, you scared me.” 

Blood rushed through her ears, rocketing through her veins so fast it made her hands tremble, her heart pounding against her palm in a rapid staccato, weird jerky beats that were a combination of the frustration she’d been trying to make the dummy feel and Oliver scaring the absolute crap out of her.

He gave her an apologetic look from underneath his sweatshirt hood where he stood at the base of the stairs.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, not moving, like he was waiting for her to get used to his presence again. He was still breathing a little heavy from his, what, run? He was wearing sweats she’d never seen before and his sweatshirt was soaked through with sweat. The hood obscured most of his face, and it was a little unnerving not being able to see him, to see what he was thinking, walking in to her pretending to beat up his training dummy.

Her first thought was, ‘Had he been _running_ at this hour?’ followed by, ‘This man and his hoods, we should treat them like hats in this place, courteously remove them before coming inside,’ followed very quickly by, ‘He should wear those sweats all the time.’

 _Not_ that she was noticing _things_.

Her eyes dropped of their own volition before forced them back to his face.

“Hi,” she said dumbly.

“Hi,” he responded.

“I didn’t…” Felicity said, pointing behind him, the words coming out in a breathless gasp. 

They were a hundred times better than what her mouth _wanted_ to run off with considering where her thoughts were, and wow, she should really think how much sleep really affected her, or how much lack of sleep affected her. She’d been so cranky last night, and while a really huge part of that was because of her issues with Oliver and his impressive ability to be so incredibly pigheaded it made her want to scream, it’d also been from a serious lack of z’s.

She was no longer lacking and it was like she was making up for lost time.

 _Awesome_.

“You scared me,” she finished, making a face because _obviously_.

He tugged his hood back, making his way towards her. 

“We should install a doorbell, or something,” she continued, waving up the stairs. “Or, you know, knocking’s really fashionable these days.” 

A tiny smirk tugged at his lips as he unzipped his hoodie. Her eyes involuntarily slipped down his chest - the t-shirt was sticking to his sweaty chest - and then a little lower than that before she realized what she was doing. 

Her eyes zipped right back up to his face. “Not that you need to knock, of course. This is your place, technically… Is there even a place to install a doorbell, or to knock? A place that we’d hear it at least, because I’m sure there’s a place to knock. You could just bang on the metal and… yell. Loudly.”

He didn’t reply. 

Oliver just tugged his sweatshirt off, leaving him in nothing but sweatpants and the white t-shirt. 

The t-shirt that was sweaty.

 _Unguarded_.

The word swept through her head and she had no idea if it was in reference to herself or to him. She was pretty sure it was him, because of the way he was moving, his body relaxed - alright, not entirely relaxed, he’d been carrying a thick line of tension across his shoulders since she’d first mentioned the Bratva, but still, he was more relaxed this morning than he had been the night before. He was comfortable enough to remove his sweatshirt without a second thought, nonchalant in how he tossed it over a bench, how he righted his t-shirt where it twisted around his torso.

Although it could easily apply to her because her eyes instantly dropped down to the quick flash of his abdomen, the dense curved scar and the tattoo in Chinese there one second and gone the next.

“You’re sweaty,” she blurted. 

Unguarded was the perfect word.

Oliver raised an eyebrow at her and she grimaced.

“I mean, were you out running, that’s the question I wanted to ask. You obviously already know you’re… sweaty.” 

“Yeah,” was all he said, stopping before her, sounding oddly detached, almost like going out for midnight runs - like getting up in the middle of the night for them or, worse, never going to sleep in the first place - was a perfectly normal thing perfectly normal people did.

Felicity frowned. “Oliver, it’s four in the morning.”

He blinked at her. “I am aware of that.”

“Okay, but it’s four in the morning, and the amount of sweat on you is telling me that you’ve been out for at least a few hours, which also tells me you either didn’t get any sleep or you didn’t even try to go to sleep.”

A flash of exasperation flew over his face before he pushed it down.

He looked ragged. His eyes were red, the skin a little more sallow than it had any business being, but he didn’t look _exhausted_ , not like he had before. No, it was different. He almost looked…

 _Haunted_.

Her heart ached at that thought and she reached for his arm, her fingers grazing over his forearm - he was so _warm_. 

“Did you get any sleep?”

He didn’t even bother dodging the question, he just completely ignored it.

Felicity’s frown deepened and she tightened her hold on him, taking a step forward, ready to slip into a lecture about the importance of sleep - Exhibit One, _her_ \- but Oliver didn’t give her the chance.

His eyes never left hers as he moved with abrupt efficiency, his hands landing on her waist, grasping her tightly.

Felicity’s jaw dropped, her heart simultaneously leapt into her throat and dropped into her stomach as she froze because _what was he doing_ when he suddenly spun her so she was facing the dummy again.

“Oh!” Felicity said, followed by a shocked noise that zipped right past her lips, her hands dropping to cover his for balance as her foot caught on itself and she almost fell. His hold on her tightened, and she felt the muscles in his arms contracting as he held her still, kept her from falling flat on her stupid face.

It didn’t escape her attention that her fingers were pressed between his and she was holding onto his hands, which were around her waist… 

_Whoa_.

“You okay?” he asked, not letting her go, waiting for her to find her equilibrium.

Equilibrium was important and a very good thing, and she was pretty sure her body knew what it was doing balance-wise because she wasn’t about to fall over any longer, but any other sense of equilibrium she might’ve laid claim to flew right out the window. It’d disappeared the second Oliver had just swooped in, because that’s what he’d done. 

_Swooped_. 

His fingers tightened, and she wondered if the way his breath seemed to speed up was just her imagination or if she was just ridiculously over-aware of the fact that his hands were on her - like _on her_. Oliver Queen was touching her in places she never thought Oliver Queen would be touching. She’d thought about it once or twice, sure, because she was a warm-blooded human and he was _Oliver_ , but actual _touching_ was off the menu, that wasn’t something that _happened_.

Her mind blanked, only able to concentrate on how his hands were almost too hot, burning through her t-shirt and sweater.

She suddenly forgot how to breathe.

“Uh,” Felicity started but Oliver was already moving, stepping _closer_ , close enough that she felt the heat radiating off his body. “Oh…”

She leaned back without thinking, wanting to curl up against the warmth - the foundry was _cold_ , that was why - before his sneakered foot appeared between hers.

He kicked her feet apart.

Felicity jerked in his arms as he yanked her stability away from her. 

“Uh, Oliver…?”

“Spread your feet,” he said, his hands remaining steady, helping her maintain her balance as he pulled her right foot back.

“Oh, well, that…” Felicity said, leaning over to counterbalance the fact that he was taking her foot away from her… and then she noticed his _hands_.

Well, she noticed how she was standing and his hands.

She didn’t pay attention to the startling fact that Oliver actually appeared to be helping her, that he’d somehow started a mini-training session, that he’d been the one to initiate it, and that he was being the complete opposite of the man she’d had to endure for the majority of the day yesterday…

No, what she paid attention to was that his pinkies were grazing her hip bones, his hands shifting down closer to her hips in a way that made her heart clench and blood rush to places that it shouldn’t be.

He was _right there_.

“Oh… kay,” she breathed.

Was she still sleeping? Was this a dream? Because the only way Oliver had stood behind her with his hands on her hips and her bent over - and oh _god_ , she hoped she kept her mouth shut - was in her dreams.

Literally. 

_Dreams._

She was dreaming. 

“Felicity…”

He was saying something, about… something.

She couldn’t hear anything past the blood rushing through her ears.

It was very, very hard to think that less than twenty-four hours ago she’d been thinking of taking a break from Team Arrow, from Oliver. It’d been harder than she’d wanted to admit how much it hurt her that he’d been locking her out, how much he’d actively been keeping from her, especially since the issue at hand literally concerned _her_ , but now? Now it was like something had shifted between them after last night, and now it was a totally different story. 

She was having a hard time _breathing_ , much less being able to think enough to comprehend what exactly was happening.

She kind of wished she could breathe because he smelled nice.

Like _really_ nice, like how-did-he-smell-so-good-when-he’d-clearly-been-sweating-while-running-the-disgusting-streets-of-Starling-City-for-at-least-an-hour kind of nice.

She needed coffee. These were thoughts she should not be having. These were not the thoughts of a caffeinated Felicity. She was still tired, still stretched thin from all the crazy over the last few days. She was drugged on sleep and she wasn’t thinking straight, because if she had been thinking straight, she’d realize that Oliver didn’t smell nice, he smelled sweaty.

And being sweaty shouldn’t be so… _nice_.

He smelled like a gross, sweaty boy and god, he smelled _good_.

Felicity blinked, her mouth flying open to say something she knew she’d regret when Oliver stepped closer and splayed his hand over her stomach, his touch steady and sure as he shifted her body.

Her mind went completely blank and she sucked in a quick breath.

His touch wasn’t unfamiliar or strange. He’d touched her before, it wasn’t a new thing, but _this_ , his large hand spanning her stomach - and _wow_ , his hands were _big_ \- applying a soft pressure to fix her stance… it was different, very, very _different_ , and not the bad kind of different. It was the kind of different that made her chest tighten to the point of pain because this was _Oliver_ and she was _Felicity_ and stuff like this didn’t happen.

This was training, she was getting what she’d asked for: _training_. If it were Diggle doing this, she wouldn’t be freaking out, would she? No, she’d be like, ‘Wow, thanks for the pointers,’ not, ‘Oh god, your fingers are so close to _that area_ , and by that area I mean _my area_ and I cannot believe I’m calling it an area, but thinking about your fingers being near that area is all I’m capable of.’

But then again, she didn’t really see Diggle doing this either. Right? Did friends do this? Surely they did, maybe this was just Oliver’s technique, to move her how he wanted instead of telling her. She was being trained by him, that meant he could manhandle her a little, right?

Felicity was _reeling_ , and she absently prayed to the Google gods that her mouth was staying as shut as it _felt_.

“Strong foundation…” Oliver said, his voice quiet and unwavering, breaking through her hysterical thoughts. His grip on her was firm. “Makes for a stronger punch.”

“What?” she asked, blinking before his words registered. Right. Punch. Training. “Oh. Right.”

She wondered if he could feel her heart pounding. God, she hoped not. Could he hear it? Because she sure could.

What was _wrong_ with her? This was well-beyond her normal freak-out ranges.

As if he hadn’t just sent her head-over-heels into a mini-tizzy that was making her question her sanity, Oliver released her and stepped back a pace. 

His lack of touch left her even more unsteady than when he’d actually been touching her. 

He didn’t go far. She could still feel him, right behind her, his presence like a wall of muscle standing at her back protectively. 

Felicity heard his soft breathing, the way it hitched every once in a while, echoing the soft shuffle of his feet when he moved. 

She was painfully aware of the fact that he was right behind her, so close she could still feel the heat emanating off him.

Oliver shifted again.

He had just as much energy as she did, she realized. Was that why he’d been running, to beat it out of himself just as much as she’d been trying to do for herself? How could he stand still like he was if that was the case? She’d barely been able to sit at her computers without wanting to jitter right out of her skin.

They both had extra energy, and the drive to expel it. 

This was like how bad romance novels started. Next thing she knew, she’d be offering to find an ‘alternate’ way to getting rid of that energy that involved no clothes and the horizontal mambo.

“What?”

“What?” Felicity parroted, a deep flush skating over her skin in a wash of tiny pinpricks. “Nothing, I didn’t… nothing.”

“Just try punching the dummy again, Felicity,” he said, and she swore she heard a smile.

“Right,” Felicity nodded.

He was waiting, waiting for her to punch the dummy again, because he’d just given her some pointers, some good pointers, for training. And he was patiently waiting for her to try the new thing. 

That was it. Training. Nothing else.

And wow, she was a piece of work that morning.

Felicity took a deep breath, forcing her eyes to the dummy. She readjusted slightly, feeling a new sense of balance she hadn’t had before as she found her base. She slowly released the air, making a fist…

She punched the dummy again. 

This time it actually moved, a resounding thud echoing through the foundry.

“Oh!” she said, but her triumph was short-lived as pain shot through her fist, and she grimaced with a breathy, “Oh, _wow_ ,” because _ow_. She cradled her fist in her other hand as Oliver said, “Nice.” 

“Thanks,” Felicity replied as Oliver stepped around her, and she winced when she heard her own voice - she sounded like she couldn’t breathe, which was fair, because she _couldn’t_. Shaking her hand out, she waved at the dummy. “I sure showed him.” 

“You should focus more on self-defense than actual fighting,” Oliver said, gripping the dummy and yanking it back into its spot.

Felicity furrowed her brow at him, cocking her head. “Might that be training advice I’m hearing, for the gala?”

His face instantly shifted at the mention of the gala, shutters falling into place.

He stood up taller, taking a deep breath.

“Okay, that’s a no. So it’s more ‘please ask before you start punching all my stuff’ advice.”

“It’s a suggestion,” Oliver said, his voice taut as he raised an eyebrow. She didn’t have to ask about the gala to know he was still very soundly on the side of ‘no’ to her attending the gala. He wrapped his hand around the dummy for emphasis as he said, “Don’t focus on brute strength because you don’t have it. I’d suggest Wing Chun.”

“Wang Chung?” Felicity asked. “Like ‘everybody Wang Chung tonight’ Wang Chung? Are you telling me to use my lack of brute strength to dance really badly around the bad guys?”

He stared at her.

“Because you haven’t seen my dancing, Oliver, and you don’t want to. I can only do the flopping around until it works sort of dancing and sexy dancing, that’s it, and I only say the sexy dancing because I think everyone can sexy dance, a little bit at least. Not that I’d be sexy dancing with the bad guys… unless you think that would work?”

“I… No,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes darkening for a split second before they cleared again.

Oliver looked back at the dummy, his jaw tight - here he was trying to help her, and she was aggravating him.

_Stop. Talking._

“I said Wing Chun,” he said, his voice a little rougher, making her wince. “It’s a form of combat, close-range. It’s ideal for smaller people, like you, because it uses your opponent’s strength against them.”

He illustrated a quick hand combo she barely caught before he hit the dummy again, making it shift in a very different way.

“It uses their weight against them.”

“Oh, okay, good,” Felicity said. She nodded, pretending to do what he’d just done. “Using strength and weight against them, that’s good. For me, because I definitely do not have a lot of those things. Not like…” 

She waved at him, her eyes dropping to his shoulders and the t-shirt that was nicely tight about his biceps, the material straining when he breathed - she knew he had muscles, but somehow seeing them in that shirt made him have _more_. 

Her finger twirled in the air as she pointed at him. “Definitely don’t want all of that on me, do I?”

Oliver’s brow furrowed for a beat before a tiny smile tugged at his lips, and for a split second, he was _Oliver_ , a man she hadn’t felt like she’d seen in days. It was the Oliver whose eyes crinkled a certain way when she did something that amused him, who got that little line that appeared between his eyebrows, who’s his lips quirked to keep his amusement at bay as he stared at her, willing her to hear what she’d just said, because it was…

_Oh._

“No! That’s not…” Felicity said abruptly, her eyes widening. “Not like that, because that is… not training, that is… _this_ is training, I meant in the training sense, fight-training, in the having you on top of me while I… not that having you on top of me would be a bad thing, in any sense, I bet it’d be really great actually. For training!” She made fists, waving them around before her eyes slipped shut. “Wow, I am just digging holes left and right this morning.” 

Oliver smiled, a little chuckle slipping out - it wasn’t a full-blown chuckle, or even a hint of one, but it was _something_. It was the only chuckle he was capable of at the moment, but at the same time, it was so much considering, and it made her smile.

“Is that a smile I spy?” Felicity asked, pointing at his face, and it widened a little, just enough to see it before it disappeared as he looked away.

But it’d been there.

“If my entire lack of brain-to-mouth filter is going to get me more of those, I’m very willing to embarrass myself,” she said, and that earned her another smile.

She’d gotten him to smile twice in the space of a few minutes. 

She almost threw her fist in the air in victory.

Oliver took in her pajamas-and-sweater combo, topped off with bare feet and her hair doing who the hell knew what. 

“You seem to be doing better,” he said.

“Yeah,” Felicity replied with a nod. She pushed on the dummy again, but it barely budged. It was _heavy_. “Besides the failed fisticuffs, I guess I am.”

“Good,” Oliver said, patting the chunk of wood with finality, taking a step away. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah,” she said, gripping the dummy and following him, her eyes narrowing. “It’s amazing what sleep can do for you, even if it’s just because you accidentally closed your eyes for one second and were too exhausted to open them again for several hours. It helps. A lot.” Felicity pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows with insinuation as she took in the circles under his eyes. “You should try it sometime.”

“I’m fine, Felicity,” he said patiently, almost serenely.

“Right, because all that running through the entire night is totally fine.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, leaning closer with emphasis before his eyes dropped to her hand where she was holding the dummy and he frowned. 

It was amazing how much that little smile had changed his entire face - she watched all the little stress lines reappear as he reached forward and picked up her hand. 

Felicity’s breath hitched.

His fingers were warm as he wrapped them around hers, his hold on her soft - it was somehow even softer because she knew how much strength he wielded. 

“You should wear bandages,” he said quietly, examining her bruised knuckles, “If you’re going to be pounding on the training equipment.” 

Oliver ran his thumb over the red-bruised skin, and Felicity’s fingers tightened around his. She watched the tip of his finger run across the little cuts decorating the skin over her knuckles, little cuts she hadn’t even noticed. 

Had she really been hitting it that hard?

He squeezed her hand gently, and she looked back up at him.

“This place sees enough scars,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “We don’t need more.” 

“I could say the same to you,” Felicity replied.

She half-expected him to narrow his eyes at her in his own personal brand of exasperation, for him to give her a look that told her it was part of his job, they didn’t mean anything when he got them, that it was just what happened, that it was different with her… but he didn’t. He didn’t do anything but blink, his face softening slightly, his grip on her hand tightening.

A lengthy moment passed and neither of them moved.

His wall was back up, the wall that always seemed to be up whenever he let her get a glimpse. He was back in control of his emotions, of the situation. 

Felicity stared at him, feeling like she was searching for something - for what? She knew he was only letting her see what he wanted her to, what was safe to. It was a mask, a different kind of mask, but a mask nonetheless. There was so much more in there, so much more that he carried, and he was only letting her see a tiny fraction of it.

Gone was the anger and frustration from the night before, the quiet desperation and fear she’d seen in her apartment, and in its place was yet another facet of Oliver Queen… but that was all it was: a facet. She knew there was so much beneath that jagged surface, but it was all locked up tight again.

Was it because he’d had so much time to himself? Was all the running and over-training, beating himself into exhaustion each night, did he do that to regain this control, was it to put the wall back up?

Felicity shivered at the idea of just what he was hiding in there, and how little she knew about any of it, about _any_ of what the hell was going on. They’d talked, but they hadn’t _talked_. She still didn’t know any more than she had yesterday, or the day before that, about the Bratva, about what Oliver knew about them, about how Oliver even knew about her and what they wanted with her.

“Oliver…” she started, his name coming out in a bare whisper.

He was still holding her hand.

He furrowed his brow, his eyes searching hers. She wasn’t nearly as good at hiding things as him; she couldn’t shut them down like he could, hide them from anyone willing to take the time to dive in. 

What did he see when he looked at her?

“What is it?” he asked.

Felicity knew everything she needed to know about Oliver Queen. She had known since the second she’d met him, since she’d seen right through his crap lie, since he’d trusted her with his life when he’d gotten shot, trusted her with his secret, since he’d risked his life for hers and so many others more times than she could count, since she’d seen the sacrifices he’d made to be that person.

She knew Oliver Queen… but there was so much about him she didn’t know.

And she _had_ to know, they all did, because it meant all their lives, not just hers.

But he hadn’t said anything for a reason.

The thought of pushing him, of asking him questions she knew would upset the tenuous line they’d reached last night, it almost made her pause.

 _Almost_. 

“Felicity?”

“Are you in the Russian mob?”

The question caught him off guard - the surprise was quickly chased off by a strange brand of fear she’d never seen on him before he shut down completely, his eyes hardening, his face blanking. He stiffened, his body tensing, his muscles all tensing abruptly, like he was preparing to bolt. 

But he didn’t move; the only indication he gave that he’d heard her was his grip on her hand suddenly tightening, his thumb digging into one of her cuts.

Felicity bit back a wince at the sharp stinging pain, her eyes never leaving his.

He stared down at her, face impassive, _cold_ , his eyes boring into hers, and this time she knew the struggle wasn’t with her - it was entirely internal, and she didn’t have to _see_ it to know that he was struggling with something. 

His lack of answer was almost enough confirmation in and of itself. 

Was if true? If he was part of the Bratva, what did that mean? How did that even happen, when had he been in Russia before? How did _he_ join the Russian Mafia, how was that even possible? 

The myriad of things she’d seen when she’d looked into the Solntsevskaya Bratva flashed through her head.

They were bad people, who did very bad things. They hurt people, they took advantage of people, they killed and maimed, they stole and embezzled, they were…

 _Evil_.

Her heart dropped as the word resonated through her head, and like he could see it, she saw something in his eyes crack. She caught a glimpse, a glimpse of the madness she could feel brewing deep inside him, and what she saw made Felicity gasped, made her shake her head in answer to something she couldn’t even name yet as she leaned into him.

“Oliver…”

He didn’t speak, he didn’t do anything. 

She waited, but the empty space between them only grew heavier.

“It’s a pretty obvious assumption, isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, you know people, in the Bratva, and you speak Russian with an almost alarming accuracy, and they asked you - _you_ , as in you Oliver, not you the Arrow - to _kidnap_ someone, to kidnap me. I mean, if that was what they asked you to do, I’m assuming that’s what they asked, that they asked you because how else did you get that folder with all my information?”

Oliver dropped her hand and took a step back, pinching his lips together.

Felicity instinctively followed him, wanting that connection back, _needing_ to maintain it. She didn’t know why she had to, but she knew it wasn’t for her.

It was for him.

“Oliver, I’m just…”

“Felicity,” he said, interrupting her, and the harsh edges around her name made her freeze, pulling her hand back. 

He opened and shut his mouth, hesitating before he clenched his jaw and scrubbed his hand down his face, hissing when his beard caught on the edges of the cuts on his fingers.

Felicity made a move to help him, not really thinking _how_ she would help, just feeling the need to, but Oliver yanked his down back down, making a tight fist and the taut lines in his forearm, the way it shook with the force of his grip on himself, made her pause. 

She had the sudden image of an old, dry rubber band being pulled too tightly and snapping to pieces, literally falling apart.

“You asked me if I had any happy stories,” he said, his eyes finding hers. They were still shuttered, still cut off, but there was a new awareness in them, something sharper that cut into her. “When I was on the island… do you remember that?”

Felicity slowly nodded, her heart already sinking.

“And I said that… that nothing good happened, because it didn’t,” Oliver continued, the words coming out in jilted jerks, like he was forcing them. “But _this_ … how I got involved in this, with the… with the Bratva, those were… those _are_ …” 

He inhaled sharply, his eyes glazing over as he looked over her head, seeing something in his mind, something that had his skin turning pale as he shifted. Felicity watched him curl into himself slightly, and her insides twisted as he somehow became _smaller_.

He was so big, so commanding, larger than life, and watching him shrink made her chest ache.

“Those are the darkest parts of the last five years, of what I did,” he said, his voice quiet and then he looked at her. 

Felicity’s heart broke at the raw emotion staring back at her and a wall of regret slammed into her. It was all there, everything, and Felicity almost reached for him again, needing to touch him to anchor him, to reassure him, to show him he wasn’t there anymore, that he was with her, and he wasn’t alone…

But she didn’t. She stayed froze, knowing he’d retreat the second she moved. 

Just as quickly as the wall had fallen, it slammed back up in the next instant.

Oliver’s eyes snapped shut, and he covered his face, his fingers digging into his temples with so much force his fingers turned white.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Felicity, it’s not…”

“Oliver,” Felicity whispered, unable to stop herself from going to him, from grabbing his hand. 

He looked down at her, a ghostly pain that made her stomach revolt rending his face as he shifted, like he was trying to get away - like he _wanted_ to get away, but she didn’t let him. 

“Whatever you did…”

An exasperated noise slipped past his lips and he yanked his hand out of hers, shaking his head. “Felicity…”

“No,” she said sharply, stopping him. “You’re acting like what happened, that’s who you still are, but that’s not true. I don’t even have to know what happened to know that’s not true. Whatever you did, whatever you had to do, it’s not who you are _now_. You are not a bad person, Oliver, and whatever you went through… whatever you had to do to get through those five years… they made you who you are today, and that man is _good_.”

He shuddered, taking another step away.

“Nothing will change that,” Felicity said, unwittingly raising her voice as he pulled back. 

“ _Good_ ,” Oliver repeated sardonically.

He chuckled, the sound coming out flat and empty, echoing the sudden raspy sound of his thumb picking at his scabs with a painful veracity.

It matched the look on his face when he met her eyes again, and it was her turn to shudder when she saw the despair staring back at her.

“I’m a high-ranking member of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, Felicity, high enough that the man who runs the largest faction of the Russian mob is a very close friend of mine, and it was that man who had to stop me a few months after he brought me in to ask if I was _okay_ , because he was worried that I was taking to the life a little too well.” He bit the words out, his tone cold, factual… ugly. “You don’t rise in the ranks because you’re a good follower, Felicity, you rise because you take initiative, because you _do_ things, things that… things that impress certain kinds of people, things that make you a bad person, that _taint_ your soul in way that you can never, ever erase.”

He took a shaky breath, his eyes closing, his features twisting, seeing things…

What had happened to him?

What had he done?

“I don’t talk about what happened during those years because I don’t want to remember it, to see it anymore, to see what I… I don’t want…” 

His voice faded and his mouth worked soundlessly, like he didn’t know what he was trying to say. 

When he looked at her, his eyes were haunted again, and so full of pain, tears burned her eyes. 

“I don’t want _you_ to see it,” he said, and something inside her cracked at the anguish on his face. “Felicity, I don’t want you to see… that person. I can’t let you see it, because it will…”

The words hung in the air between them.

“That you’re in this,” he continued, his voice strained with an emotion she’d never heard in his voice before, one that sliced right through her. “That someone in the Bratva is after you, and that I didn’t even _know_ about it? That they were _right there_ and I didn’t…” 

He paused, staring at her, and this time she did reach for him. 

Felicity stepped towards him again, her hand coming up, her fingers grazing his chin as he said, his voice harsh, “I wanted to kill those men outside your apartment, Felicity, and I almost did.”

“But you didn’t,” Felicity replied. He closed his eyes, turning away, but she didn’t let him. Her finger slid along his jaw, pulling him back to her. “You didn’t, Oliver, and that’s the difference. You’re not that person anymore. Whoever you were when you were then… it isn’t you.”

She could see in his eyes he didn’t believe her.

“Don’t let it take away from the good you’ve done,” she said. “The lives you’ve saved, the people you’ve helped, the hope you inspire… You sacrifice everything to help this city, Oliver, and if going through all that… if you had to go through that to become who you are today…” 

“No,” he said, shaking his head, his voice hardening. He pulled back again, leaving her hand hovering in the air between them, empty. “Don’t say that, you don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Because you won’t _tell_ me,” Felicity replied, her frustration filling the space between them. 

“And I’m not going to!” he instantly snapped. “I won’t involve you in this anymore than you already are.”

“But I already am involved, Oliver,” she argued and he growled in frustration. “And this isn’t happening because of you, it’s something else, it’s someone else. I can’t do this alone, just like you can’t.”

“I can stop it,” he retorted.

“ _We_ can stop it,” Felicity said and the look of exasperation he shot her fueled the fire in her chest. “It isn’t just about _me_ , Oliver, and while I love that you are so hell-bent on protecting me - it means more than you can ever know - I can’t ignore that it isn’t just me at stake here. What about all the women who are going to get taken, who are going to get sold or abused or _killed_? It isn’t even what they’re doing with the clubs, what else are they going to do here, who else will they hurt? Everywhere the Bratva goes they bring death and destruction, and they’re setting up shop _here_ , in our city.”

Oliver closed his eyes.

“You keep wondering why I’m not backing down,” she continued, her voice growing quieter, but the power behind her words didn’t lessen a bit. “Why I’m not just sitting in the corner, waiting for this to blow over, _that’s_ why. I can’t do that, I can’t sit back and not do something when there’s something I can do, Oliver. I _need_ you to understand that.”

“God, Felicity,” he breathed. He scrubbed his hands over his face before shoving them through his hair. His face was tight with a nameless emotion, looking like he was fighting himself.

_“Everywhere the Bratva goes they bring death and destruction…”_

God, she wished she could make him see that there was nothing he could do to make her see him differently, _nothing_. She knew him _now_ , and that was all that mattered. The exact same reason he didn’t want her involved was the same reason she _needed_ to be involved. Even if they had found another way, the “request” for her had put her right in the middle, there was no alternative now. They needed to use it to their advantage; she needed him to stop fighting the idea of it and _help_ her. 

And she knew why he was, and while it filled her chest with an emotion she really didn’t want to put a name to, it was also something he had to put aside, because it wasn’t just her life at stake.

“Oliver…” Felicity stared at him. “Nothing you did will change how I see you now.”

He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. He dropped his hands, his thumb flicking viciously over his scab, his thumb scraping it open. 

Oliver winced, pulling his hand up to see what he’d done. 

His fingers were covered in blood, his thumbnail even worse.

“Oliver,” Felicity breathed at the sight, and she was moving towards him before either of them knew what she was doing. She grabbed his hand, pulling his fingers back to see the damage he’d done, ready to tell him that he shouldn’t pick at it because then it’d never heal - and the symmetry of those words were definitely not lost on her - but Oliver was already tugging his hand out of hers.

He stared at her, a gut-wrenching sadness sweeping over his face before he schooled his features again, looking away.

“There is one thing you can’t change,” Felicity said.

He closed his eyes, bracing himself.

“You’re the man who makes me feel safe.”

Oliver stiffened, bowing his head like the words were a physical blow.

“Things have been really… not great between us the last few days,” Felicity said, and Oliver made a scoffing sound under his breath. “But none of that changes that the safest place I can think of…” He looked back at her, like he couldn’t help himself, like the move was completely involuntary. “Is by _your_ side. I know you won’t let anything happen to me, ever.”

He stared at her.

“You make me feel _safe_ , Oliver,” she continued, shaking her head in wonder. “And that’s not a choice I made, that’s not something I can turn on or off. It just is. I know I’m safe with you, I know I’ll always be safe with you. If that doesn’t say anything about how I feel about you _now_ , then I don’t know what will.”

His face changed, the tiniest transformation, but he got it. 

He took a breath, and as he let it out, she felt some of the tension sliding out of him.

“And I know the gala is still a hot issue…” He stiffened again, his brow growing heavy as he opened his mouth to argue with her, but she didn’t let him. “But it’s not neatly as terrifying knowing that you’ll be there too. That while I’ll be in their grasp, I won’t really be, because I’ll be in _your_ grasp, where I’m safe. Yours is the only grasp I want to be in.”

Felicity paused for effect, but it was enough time for her words to catch up with her, and she winced.

“I meant your presence kind of grasp, not… your hands kind of grasping. Presence. Around you, near you, with you. That’s the grasping I meant. Strictly platonic grasping. Grasping between friends… which still doesn’t sound very good.”

Oliver’s face softened, a ghost of a smile slipping over his lips. It disappeared just as quickly as it’d appeared, but it was enough.

And just like that, the mood in the foundry lightened.

“But you probably already knew that,” Felicity said, and Oliver nodded.

“I got the gist,” he said, his words barely audible.

“Good,” she said, offering him a little smile, one he almost returned.

For the first time since he’d blown up at her about the Bratva, her shoulders didn’t feel quite so heavy. There was still so much to do, so much to talk about, but she felt better. She’d seen the effect her words had had on him, and it blew her mind that he didn’t already know it - how many situations had she jumped in without a second thought because she knew he was right there at her back? 

But he’d heard her, and it made her feel lighter. 

Oliver opened his mouth to say something else, but he changed his mind a second later, his jaw snapping shut with a soft click.

“We should get ready,” he said instead and she furrowed her brow before realizing what he was saying.

“Right,” she said. “It’s Thursday, and work is still a thing. You have the meeting with the PR all morning, something about advertising for some new metal thing - something I’d probably be so much more interested in if we weren’t so distracted - and then that telephone conference with New York.” Felicity nodded, moving to step away. “And, since we’re on the subject and since my apartment is all compromised, we should really talk about the serious lack of a bathtub in here.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yes. I know that was actually my design, but that’s not the point. The point is that we should invest in a tub down here, because we are all in dire need of relaxation techniques, and getting naked with just you and some bath salts and candles is the ultimate relaxation.” She made a face. “And when I said ‘you,’ that was directed at me. I’m the you. Not like I need you in the tub with me with the bath salts and… because I…” 

Felicity closed her eyes.

“I really need coffee.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Oliver replied, amusement lightening his tone before he nudged her towards the bathroom. “Hurry up.” Felicity frowned at him over her shoulder and he responded with, “At this rate, by the time you’re out Diggle’ll be here.”

“Hey,” Felicity said, turning back to point at him. “I resent that.”

“You took over an hour to get ready yesterday,” Oliver replied.

“That’s hilarious coming from you, Mr. I-Spend-Twenty-Five-Minutes-In-The-Shower. I really don’t want to think about what…” Felicity closed her eyes, shaking her head because that was so a place she didn’t need to go. Ever. “I’m gonna stop. And go.”

“Yeah,” Oliver said.

Felicity turned, missing the actual smile on his face as he watched her walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the update!
> 
> Reviews literally feed my soul and muse.


	11. I see faith in your eyes, never you  hear the discouraging lies… (54 hours before the gala)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve taken my research for the Bratva and tailored the organization to fit this story, specifically regarding the hierarchy and everyone’s role within the brotherhood. Also, another reminder that I’ve infused a lot of darkness into Oliver’s past, much more than what we’ve seen so far in canon, especially when it comes to the Bratva. I’ve taken what I’ve learned about them in RL and applied a lot of it to Oliver, so this is a warning that his past is ugly, and we’ll be seeing much more of that as the story goes on.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the amazing response to this fic, specifically about how Oliver and Felicity are moving forward. It's really important to me that this fic is as close to canon as I can possibly make it - as much as I can considering it's fanfiction, that is - which means I'm essentially shoveling certain aspects of two seasons worth of character/relationship development into the space of a few days. (It will be _so worth it_.) Thank you for the great feedback!
> 
> Forever grateful to Margaret (teawhovian/TeaWithLemon) for her beta work and support. She does so much to help me with this story, I’d be lost without her.

Oliver couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on time for so many meetings in a row.

He saw it in the faces of his employees when he breezed into the room a few minutes before each meeting started, the way their jaws dropped, their eyes widening, their surprise growing as he got through each meeting quickly and efficiently, moving them along even quicker if the meeting didn’t require Felicity’s presence with him.

He was quickly discovering he didn’t like not being able to see Felicity at all times.

When she stepped away to run an errand in the building or when she and Diggle stepped outside for coffee, or when she went to the bathroom and took longer than just a few minutes, his agitation levels skyrocketed. The longer he was away from her, the tighter his skin started feeling, making him even antsier than he already was. His thumb absently picked at the new bandages over the cuts on his fingers as he stared at the entrance to the elevator bank, waiting while white noise slowly filled his ears, drowning out whoever he was meeting with… but then he’d see her, or she’d poke her head into the conference room, or he’d catch a hint of her perfume, telling him she’d been close by just a few minutes earlier, and he’d instantly feel better, his chest loosening enough for him to breathe again.

The second she disappeared off his radar, it started all over.

It was hard to remember a time when he’d been perfectly at ease with her doing whatever she did, at her own pace. She got to work on her own, took her own lunches, took breaks, took walks, did a multitude of things that didn’t require his presence in the least, and that was just during the day. When five o’clock rolled around, she usually headed to the foundry on her own, and if she didn’t - if the Arrow wasn’t going out that night or nothing was on the vigilante schedule - all it took was a simple, “See you tomorrow morning,” and that was the end of it.

But now the idea of that left him feeling like he’d eaten bricks.

Oliver’s eyes found her again where she sat at her desk, the sunlight shining into the open space behind her making her glow.

He’d had an eight o’clock that morning with Thea and his mother’s attorney but he’d begged off in favor of riding into the office with Felicity and Diggle. He hadn’t mentioned it because he knew not only would Felicity force him to go, but she’d roll her eyes and give him an earful about how ridiculous he was being, that he needed to be with his family first and foremost, and that nothing would happen in the hour it took him to meet with them.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, she’d have a point and that was exactly why he didn’t say anything.

Moira Queen’s trial for her part in what’d happened in the Glades was coming up, and it wasn’t just her they’d be wanting to hear from, but Oliver and Thea as well.

He _knew_ that… 

But he didn’t want to leave Felicity’s side, not if he could help it. It’d stopped being a conscious urge a while ago, now it was a _need_ , and Felicity would see right through it, which meant he’d end up going despite the fact that he’d spend the entire time with his foot bouncing under the table, barely hearing a word, unable to keep his mind away from the gala, from the Russians, from wondering if someone was watching Felicity right then, checking his phone every fifteen seconds to see if Anatoly was calling him back, knowing he was also half-expecting a call from Diggle telling him someone had snatched her up.

He knew it was ridiculous, that he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

And he could just hear Thea’s caustic comments about how he looked - _“Not getting any sleep, big brother?”_ \- especially after her assumptions about his trip to Russia with Felicity in the first place.

He didn’t have the energy to field his sister and the Russian Mafia.

Oliver knew he looked like shit; he’d barely recognized himself in the mirror that morning.

Felicity hadn’t been wrong when she’d asked him if he’d gotten any sleep last night, because he hadn’t. It was partly because the second he closed his eyes it was taking less and less time for him to fall back into the black hole of his past, waking a mere twenty minutes later with the sticky memory of blood on his hands and frightened screams in his ears, but also because he’d felt the undeniable urge to make sure Felicity was okay. 

Oliver had checked on her every half hour, needing to see she was still there, still breathing, that she was alright, before all his pacing around the foundry had finally driven him out into the night where he’d run for hours until the vicious burn in his muscles couldn’t be ignored, only to come back to the startling sound of pained grunts and something being hit.

The bolt of panic that’d shot through him had him practically throwing himself down the stairs, dozens of scenarios running through his head as his tired mind tried to make sense of what he was hearing, guilt hot on the trail of the fear searing through his gut that he’d left her alone…

But it’d just been Felicity punching a training dummy, making frustrated noises with each hit. 

The relief had been staggering - _she was okay, she wasn’t hurt, nobody was there, she was alright_ \- and he’d taken a second, gripping the railing of the stairs as he took her in, reveling in how much life she exuded, how much _light_ , watching the flex of her legs and shoulders as she’d rocked awkwardly in place, hitting the dummy with barely any force.

Oliver knew what she was doing because it was the same thing he’d been doing, ever since he’d seen her name in that folder.

So… he’d helped her.

Oliver’s palms itched at the memory of touching her. His mind had automatically documented every single thing from the fuzzy sweater she wore to how small she was in his hands to the way she felt when she took a breath to the soft scent of the foundry and his soap on her skin. 

He’d spun her around, directing her, not missing how her breath caught when he’d gripped her waist, the breathy gasp when he’d spread his hand over her abdomen, her muscles twitching under his fingers as he’d fixed her posture… it’d felt so natural, so right, and he hadn’t taken a second to question what he’d been doing, to _realize_ what he’d been doing. Instead, he’d let himself linger - let himself feel how warm she was, how she vibrated with energy, how the scent of his shampoo in her hair made him feel strangely lighter.

Something dangerous had unfurled in his chest, the longer he held her like that, something that made him clutch her a little tighter.

There were boundaries, unspoken boundaries they didn’t cross. He’d been tired, worn to the bone with exhaustion, his mind still spinning at a hundred and ten miles per hour - he hadn’t been _thinking_. It was a comfort level between them, but it was one they’d never explored… but it wasn’t _supposed_ to be explored, not with her.

And yet he’d touched her like he had the right to, responding to her reactions - her skin warming, her breathing growing shallow, her movements unsteady and unsure, not knowing what he was doing.

He’d heard what she said about getting horizontal as a way to expend energy, and it was such a perfectly Felicity thing to say - he knew what she was saying, he knew she was feeling the same thing as he was, the same need for release - but the way it’d come out… he hadn’t even blinked, because it was _Felicity_.

But then…

_“Are you in the Russian mob?”_

The rush of white noise that’d slammed into him was still overwhelming. Why had he been so surprised? She herself said it was an obvious assumption, because it was, but the things that came with telling her… he knew the consequences of it, of showing her that side of himself, and he just _couldn’t_ , not to _her_.

But she hadn’t given up.

_“You’re the man who makes me feel safe.”_

She’d said it like it was a simple fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, leaving him feeling like the air had been sucked out of the room. The complete and total trust shining in her eyes had rendered him speechless, and even more secure in his decision to not tell her a single thing past what she needed to know - the last thing he ever wanted to do was give her a reason to find a fault in her trust in him. 

Her damn logic wasn’t helping _anything_ \- he was more aware than any of them what the Bratva were capable of, what would happen when they got their new operation up and running, but he just didn’t _care_ , and _that_ was the problem. He knew it was a problem, one that she was continually pointing out to him - he didn’t care, and he wouldn’t, not until he _knew_ she was safe.

And she’d be the complete opposite of that at the gala.

_“And I know the gala is still a hot issue…”_

It wasn’t even _an_ issue as far as he was concerned, but he knew she wasn’t going to relent.

He loved that about her as much as he hated it.

When Diggle had arrived, Felicity had still been getting dressed, leaving them out in the main area of the foundry.

Oliver tried to avoid what he saw as the wheels in Diggle’s head turned - he was far too observant; it was usually an asset, but at the moment it was a damn annoyance, and he’d ended up talking about everything _but_ what he saw shining in Diggle’s eyes for as long as he could.

_“Did you reach out to Lyla about…?” Oliver asked._

_“Yeah,” Diggle said, nodding. “She’s on it. Said she’d call me if she found something.”_

_“Good.”_

_Silence._

_“Did we get that carton of new hooks?”_

_“Yeah, I put them in the corner over there. Haven’t checked them out yet.”_

_“They’re a new design, supposed to be better with grappling.”_

_“Mm.”_

_Silence._

_Diggle sighed._

_“You gonna tell her?” he asked._

_Oliver closed his eyes._

_Tell Felicity that they were looking into the crap story about her mother and a psychic behind her back? Oliver didn’t know Donna Smoak, he didn’t know if the concrete belief in Felicity’s eyes was completely biased or if that was how her mother really was, he just didn’t know._

_What he did know what that he wasn’t willing to take any chances, not when it came to her._

_Oliver didn’t answer - because he didn’t have an answer - and Diggle just nodded, like he’d already known._

_Seeing the folder last night hadn’t just changed things for Felicity, it had for Diggle too._

_Another moment of silence passed, both of them listening to the sound of her finishing up in the bathroom, the zip of her makeup bag, the sound of hairspray he didn’t remember seeing her grab, the whoosh of her pulling clothes out of her overnight bag._

_“You look like shit.”_

_Oliver didn’t have the energy to disagree or even pretend to be affronted where he stood leaning against Felicity’s desk, his shoulders slumped, wrinkling the hell out of his suit._

_“I know.”_

_“You look like shit, but not as shitty,” Diggle amended before cocking his head. “You two talk some more?”_

_Oliver sighed with a, “You could say that,” just as the other third of their team joined them, tugging her suit jacket on._

_Felicity pulled her long ponytail out of the collar, her eyes on Diggle. “So, do you know what exactly a ‘high-ranking member’ of the… uh… Solntsevskaya Bratva…?”_

_Oliver winced at her pronunciation with a dark frown. He wanted to stop her just as much as he just wanted to get it over with, knowing exactly what questions would be following when Diggle heard what he’d told her._

_“… Or however the heck you say that,” Felicity continued, stopping before them, the question aimed at Diggle. “Did you know about that?”_

_Diggle stared at her uncomprehendingly. “High-ranking member…?” His eyes flew back to Oliver and he pointed at him. “You?”_

_Oliver just blinked at him._

_“So you didn’t know that Oliver is part of the Russian mob, and apparently a ‘high-ranking member’?” Felicity asked._

_Oliver knew she was just asking a question, that she was curious, that he’d told her more than he’d ever intended and that it hadn’t been enough - her tone was congenial, but he still took it as an attack. Oliver stood up, straightening his shoulders like he was getting ready to face a firing squad._

_“I did not know that,” Diggle said, and they both looked at him. “High-ranking member? What does that mean exactly?”_

_Oliver stared at them for a beat, unable to escape the feeling that the can of worms he’d been trying to keep under lock and key kept slipping further and further open. He wanted to say it wasn’t important, that it didn’t matter, that the less they knew, the less danger they were in, but he knew the second those words came out, it’d definitely be like standing in front of a firing squad._

_“It means,” he finally said. “That I’m a Kapitan. A Captain. I have been for the last three years.”_

_“And that means…” Diggle said as Felicity asked, “Three years?”_

_“It means I hold weight in the Bratva,” Oliver replied vaguely, his eyes sliding to Diggle. “You remember Anatoly?”_

_“Yeah,” Diggle said slowly. “The man who helped us get Lyla out of that gulag.”_

_“He’s the leader of the largest faction within the organization,” Oliver said, and Diggle’s eyes widened in surprise. “And he answers directly to the Pakhan, who is, for lack of a better term, the head of the entire brotherhood.”_

_“Wait,” Felicity said. “Are you talking about that sweet guy from the jail? That guy? That guy is the leader of the Bratva?”_

_“He’s a Vory,” Oliver said by way of explanation and the look Felicity shot him told him that meant absolutely nothing to her. “It doesn’t matter what his rank is, just know he’s one of the most dangerous men in the Bratva.”_

_“But he… he was so nice,” Felicity said, shaking her head. “He gave me a flower.”_

_Oliver furrowed his brow, not remembering that, but it sounded like something Anatoly would do, keeping flowers on his person for beautiful women. That was what made Anatoly so dangerous - he came off as one of the sweetest and gentlest people you’d probably ever meet in your life, but if you crossed him or did anything that displeased him, you’d see exactly why he was one of the most powerful leaders within the Solntsevskaya Bratva._

_“So he’s the… Vory?”_

_A ghost of a smile cracked his lips at her butchered pronunciation. “Yeah.”_

_“And you worked with him?”_

_“We met on Lian Yu.” Felicity’s eyes widened incredulously and Oliver shook his head. “It’s a long story, and it’s an even longer one how I got to Russia in the first place, but he took me into the organization, gave me a place. That’s how I got in.”_

_“But isn’t the Russian mob sort of, you know, for Russians only?” Felicity asked._

_“When a Vory in the Solntsevskaya Bratva tells you to jump, the only thing you need to ask is ‘how high’,” Oliver said._

_“What does that even mean?” Felicity asked, but Diggle nodded._

_“He says you’re in, that means you’re in,” the man said and Oliver nodded. “That explains a lot.”_

_“It’s how we got into the gulag and it’s how we have an in at the gala.”_

_“Okay, so…” Felicity said, her brow furrowed. “If you’re a captain of this Russian ship, why can’t you just order everyone to get out of Starling City? Snap your Captain fingers and say, ‘Hey, that’s not allowed here’?”_

_A sad smirk lit his face. “That’s not exactly how it works.”_

_“That tells us a whole lot,” Felicity replied._

She’d pressed for more, but Oliver had stopped there. 

He hadn’t wanted to explain any more than he already had; they were already painfully aware of how very cutthroat the Bratva could be, and it was obvious enough that it wasn’t just your physical life in danger but the ethical grounds you based it on. Once upon a time, Oliver had thought the fact that he was afforded a lot of leeway and connections made up for it, but that assumption was losing more and more weight as time went on.

His relationship with the Bratva was valuable, yes, valuable enough that he wasn’t revisiting Alexi to threaten more information out of him with an arrow or his bare fist, but that didn’t make up for what he’d had to give up during his active course in the brotherhood.

_“Because you won’t tell me, Oliver…”_

He’d _never_ tell her - any of it - not if he could avoid it.

The warehouse in Kaliningrad flashed through his mind. The rusted Cyrillic letters on the side of the building, the creak and groan of the boats hitting the docks echoing the ropes swinging from the ceiling, the steady drip of blood falling from the large hooks hanging at the ends where…

Swallowing the bile that always came with that memory, Oliver pushed it away, forcing himself back to the present.

He was in his office, on a conference call with… someone. 

He glanced at the clock, groaning internally.

It’d only been seven minutes.

Felicity was still at her desk, chatting with Diggle where he stood near the elevators. 

The steady drone of the conference he was on continued in the background, people talking about something from some department about some important thing for some future date… he wasn’t quite sure.

He was more interested in watching Felicity, in the way he just had to look at her and for a split second, all the bad was washed away.

She’d fallen asleep a few minutes after they’d gotten in the car after leaving her apartment last night. She hadn’t woken when they’d gotten to the foundry, or when he’d come around to her side and gently picked her up, carrying her inside and down the stairs, straight to the cot. She needed the rest, and he couldn’t blame her body for giving into the exhaustion he’d been watching her flirt with for far too long. He was used to it, used to battling his body’s need for sleep, but she wasn’t, and he didn’t want her to get used to it.

He’d managed to get her jacket off her, setting her panda flats on the floor, gently pulling her glasses off before covering her in the blanket, thinking not for the first time that he wished she’d just agree to go to the mansion. She’d be warmer there, more comfortable, a hundred times better compared to the cot he’d bought specifically because it was simple and easy for him.

It wasn’t meant for her.

She’d barely reacted to anything, her breathing remaining deep and steady.

He was grateful she’d gotten some rest; the difference in her demeanor from the day before was stark. There was a new lightness about her, in her movements, in everything she did, and he knew it was probably more because they’d finally talked than anything, but the sleep had helped. 

That brightness he always associated with her was back, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Oliver felt like he’d been starved for sunlight and was finally getting a taste of it again after being lost in the shadows for far too long.

There was so much to do, so much they had to figure out, but for this second, he was content to just watch her, to know she was safe, to let himself revel in the fact that when she looked at him now, it was like it had been before all the Bratva crap had come up.

It was amazing how much better that alone made him feel.

Oliver felt the tug of sleep, and he shifted in his chair, pushing it back down. His body craved rest, but every time he closed his eyes… 

He sighed, rubbing his forehead before settling again.

He’d thought he’d had issues with sleeping before - he’d been so very, very wrong, and judging by the looks both Diggle and Felicity shot him, he looked as shitty as he felt.

As he tried to pay attention to what was happening on his phone, his eyes invariably found Felicity again.

“Oliver, are you listening?”

Oliver jerked, his eyes flying back to the phone.

“Yes, sorry,” he said, trying to remember the last thing he’d heard. His mind came up blank and he frowned, rubbing his eyes. “We’re just having a, uh… a little mini-crisis here.”

He could _feel_ Isabel’s disapproving judgment through the phone.

Oliver winced. He was catching maybe every fifth word or so, but the second he heard what was being talked about, it disappeared in the same second. It didn’t help that it was significantly easier to not pay attention without her standing over his desk, glaring at him as he failed to have knowledge about the holdings in Manhattan, and the plan the Board had presented to him three weeks ago. 

It also didn’t help that she’d decided last minute to fly out to the meeting instead, which meant she was taking every opportunity to subvert him, and it really didn’t help that he was basically handing it to her on a silver platter.

“Mr. Queen, if you would look at…”

Isabel. “I actually have that right here, and I think we should talk about the third quarter…”

“I think this is something that Queen Consolidated would benefit from, Mr. Queen…”

Isabel. “I completely agree, although if you at this section here, we should address the potential downslope we’d see…”

Oliver rubbed his forehead, trying to keep up, but failing miserably.

He didn’t _care_ about money and budgets and quarters and goals, it was all bullshit, bullshit he didn’t have time for, and while Isabel was more than proving her capacity for being the cattiest person on the planet, he had to admit to himself that it’d be so much easier if he left this sort of stuff for her to handle.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, the urge to tell them he didn’t have time for this menial crap, but he stopped himself. Because Oliver Queen, CEO of Queen Consolidated, wasn’t supposed to know about the Russian mob, much less worry about what they were doing in Starling City, nor was he supposed to know anything but the basics about what his executive assistant did outside these glass walls. No, what he was supposed to know was the ins and outs of his company, including money, budgets, quarters and goals…

But he just didn’t _care_.

As Isabel redirected the conversation again, Oliver hit the mute button and scrubbed his face until he felt a little more alert.

This was such a damn waste of time.

With a heavy sigh, Oliver dropped his hands, his eyes catching on Felicity for a long second before he caught movement out the corner of his eye. He glanced over to Diggle watching _him_ with a raised eyebrow and what looked like amusement. 

Narrowing his eyes in annoyance at what he saw on his face and the drone on his office phone, Oliver reached for his cell, clicking it on.

A trundle of emails and alerts from the newsfeeds Felicity had set up waited for him - _“You’re the CEO, you have to at least act like it. Answer an email every once in a while, respond to a call. At least pretend, Oliver…”_ \- and no phone calls, at least the phone calls he cared about.

He’d been trading calls with Anatoly since that morning, when Felicity had gotten into the shower. He’d been avoiding calling his old friend because he didn’t want to put him out more than he already had after all the help he’d given them in Russia. He knew Anatoly would scoff at that - _“I owe you my life, Oliver, that is worth a lifetime of whatever you need”_ \- and demand to know what was going on, but all the same, Oliver wanted to keep his life in Russia as separate from his world in Starling City as much as he could.

But the deeper this got, the more Oliver saw how deep Felicity was, the more he needed answers. He wanted to know who the men were outside Felicity’s apartment, who’d sent them and to also inform Anatoly that Oliver had rendered them more or less incapable of anything but breathing for the time being, and to ask him if he knew anything about anyone looking to _acquire_ Felicity. 

Oliver glanced at the clock - it was after 1 a.m. in Moscow, which meant Anatoly was definitely still awake, but probably busy, which he understood, but damn it, he was getting _restless_.

Where with Alexi Oliver felt like he had to walk on eggshells, he knew he could speak with Anatoly freely, and he sorely needed that. He needed to talk with someone he trusted implicitly, someone who could get him answers, someone who didn’t look at him like he was searching for a way to take advantage of him in return.

Anatoly didn’t know everything about Oliver and what he’d been up to since leaving Russia, just as Oliver didn’t know everything about what his friend had been up to, but none of that mattered because Oliver knew at the end of the day, Anatoly would make sure the brotherhood was at his beck and call. He’d done it before, and he would do it again, just as Oliver would do the same for him, further cementing that saving the Russian’s life on Lian Yu had been one of the smartest things Oliver had ever done on that island. The trip to Moscow last week was proof of that, although he would have to mention Anatoly’s inclination towards talking about him with other people, but that was just who he was. The man loved to talk, especially about the months Oliver had been active in the Bratva - it reflected well on him, the man who’d brought such a valuable asset into the fold.

Oliver knew if he asked for discretion, he’d get it.

He just needed to _talk_ to him first.

His eyes found Felicity again, and just as it had before, seeing her, watching the light furrow in her brow as she worked - he knew she wasn’t working on anything QC-related - it centered him.

Just looking at her made it easier to breathe.

When he’d touched her the night before, it’d been just as much for him as it had been for her. He’d needed to know that she was still there, that while she was in a place that’d been tainted by intruders, she was alright, that he could reach out and touch her and it wouldn’t just be part of his imagination or a bad dream.

She’d looked so small where she’d stood in her bathroom, so vulnerable, and he’d wanted nothing more than to wrap her up forever, to erase that look on her face, to make her see that he would never let anything happen to her… and she’d let him. He’d kissed her forehead, holding her closer when she’d leaned into him, breathing him in… 

That same dangerous something from that morning filled his chest again, and Oliver’s lung tightened, his heart picking up.

Felicity glanced over as if she could feel his eyes on her, and she offered him a small smile before looking pointedly at his phone, her eyes asking, _‘Are you paying attention?’_

He nodded, and the look she gave him said she wasn’t convinced.

Despite himself, his heart skipped a beat and he ducked his head, shaking it slightly - at himself. He’d felt the same thing when he’d seen her that morning, no longer wearing her skirt, having changed into her plaid pajama bottoms and that static-y sweater that collected her hair like crazy. 

Once the panic had passed, he’d watched her, his gut tightening for a reason he couldn’t name.

It’d happened again when she and Diggle had gone to get coffee and lunch, their fingers brushing when she’d handed him his cup, a little jolt of electricity zapping between them, one that’d made them both pause before she pulled away.

Oliver closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead.

What was he even _thinking_?

A ding from his computer caught his attention and Oliver glanced at the monitor. 

It was an instant message from Felicity, a link. 

His eyes flew to hers and found her watching him, her entire demeanor changed. Worry radiated from every line in her body as she bit her lower lip. Oliver frowned and she nodded to his computer.

Oliver clicked the link open.

It was a report from that morning, the headline reading, _‘Chaos Still Reigning in the Glades,’_ and underneath it were photos of three young women.

Oliver’s stomach dropped, knowing what’d happened without having to read it. 

_Missing._

The large block letters dominated the bottom of the page.

He skimmed over the details - one had been on her way home from work, last seen cutting through an alley. Another had been taken right from her car, and the third had gone for a job interview, the last anyone had heard from her.

The job interview had been for a waitressing job at a new club called Ember.

“Damn it,” Oliver whispered, a rush of bile flooding his stomach as he stared at the three images of the girls, feeling an ugly rush of déjà vu. He made a tight fist with his left hand, the sting in his cuts doing nothing to keep him in the present. 

It was already happening.

Oliver had only been active in that particular ‘trade’ on behalf of the Bratva for three months before what he was doing started sinking in further than skip deep. The glamour of being a member of the Bratva had more than taken over once he’d been accepted into the fold, and it’d been easy to play the role, to inhabit that world, to feel the power and connections he had at his fingertips, to be okay with the excuses he made, over and over, when he saw something questionable.

It’d been so easy at first: people paid for sex with gorgeous women. The women were there, they were warm, willing and able, and people gave him a pretty penny for that right.

Oliver had even partaken of some of the ‘goods’ himself. He heard from them and from his men that the girls liked being with him, and he did a pathetically admirable job of letting that cloud his judgment, of assuming he was just good in bed, of not realizing it was because he didn’t hurt them. 

He turned a blind eye to how skittish the women were around most of the clients, of how rarely they met anyone’s eyes, how one had tears in hers every time she finished with someone, how one always threw up after she was done with a certain client… but as time went on, it didn’t take him long to notice what the glamour hid - the new scars that appeared on a weekly basis, the hollow cheekbones, the slowly-growing vacancy in their eyes, the fine difference between muffled shouts of pleasure and shouts of pain.

He found a girl slouched in the bathtub with pills she’d stolen from one of the clients, and another overdosed during a session with three men, fresh needle holes in her arms and innocent looks on their faces when Oliver demanded to know what’d happened.

One girl didn’t show up for work one day, another had her face so badly mangled by one of the customers that she’d had to be rushed to the hospital… except that’s not where she’d been taken her. She’d only gotten as far as the alley behind the club, something Oliver only discovered when he’d gotten his Mercedes back that night and had seen the rusty stains smeared in the trunk. 

He’d closed it with a finality that he’d hammered into the men who’d done it.

Oliver thought it’d been a one-time thing, a misstep, a mishap… 

He’d been wrong, so wrong.

When another customer complained about the crooked fingers on one of the girls’ hands, the man had simply taken out his knife and removed them. Her screams had brought the entire house to the room and the man had just smirked, saying he’d ‘fixed’ her before handing Oliver the bloody digits.

It didn’t take him long to realize that it wasn’t exactly unheard of for the girls to come in to some of the houses and to never been seen again, for some to leave at the end of a shift only to never return. 

Oliver went to great lengths to ensure that never happened under him - he started banning the men who abused the girls under his roof, and he kept the house stocked with clothes and food, learning how to very carefully walk the line between being a Kapitan with an investment in the girls and how they spent their time with whom, and being someone who was discovering he was still human, somewhere deep inside, that there were still levels even he wouldn’t sink to.

He’d ordered his men to keep the house clean, to keep the girls fed properly, to take care of them, to get doctors in to avoid the festering infections and new wounds that were somehow inevitable.

He’d thought he’d been helping, making their lives better, but he’d been so wrong.

He’d been so blind, so naïve.

The reality of the life he’d been leading finally hit him when he’d seen a Missing Person poster in the storefront of a bakery. 

The poster called the woman Antonia but Oliver knew her as Valeriya, and he knew that the week before someone had shoved a lit cigar against her collarbone, and that she had vicious scars all along her shins from a woman who’d worn a belt made of heavy leather braided around a thick metal chain.

Oliver had stopped the second he’d seen it, his stomach _dropping_ , but his krysha, Matvei, hadn’t missed a beat. He’d strode into the bakery and before Oliver could so much as blink, he’d ripped the poster down, threatening the owners in a low, gritty voice what would happen if they put any more posters up like that.

When Oliver had asked Matvei what he was doing, he’d been met with a stony look, one that had slowly morphed into a low simmer of annoyance and rage as Oliver started enforcing more rules about how the girls were to be treated.

It’d helped assuage the guilt that had been building in the back of his mind, but it hadn’t been enough.

Whatever brand of humanity he’d settled for after everything that happened in Hong Kong, on Lian Yu, it let him believe that it _was_ enough, and for a while it’d worked.

Until it hadn’t. 

Until he couldn’t do it anymore, until he’d initiated what had pushed him out of Russia, until it brought darkness to the girls he’d stowed in that warehouse.

Antonia had been one of those girls.

“Damn it,” Oliver whispered again, staring at the photos of three women.

His eyes flickered back to Felicity where she sat at her desk. 

Her eyes were still on him, her brow knit with worry…

And resolve.

Oliver’s stomach churned even more and he tore his eyes away, shutting his browser down, forcing himself to listen to the conference call, ignoring her gaze burning into him. 

*

He was running.

His lungs burned, his muscles knotting with exertion.

The jungle was thick, barely letting any moonlight through.

He stumbled over fallen logs and rocks, feet slapping through shallow pools of water. 

Branches slapped his face, leaving stinging scratches in their wake, dirt edging into his eyes, dead plants catching on the edges of his cracked lips.

He was on the island, but this wasn’t a memory - he was in full Arrow gear, his bow clutched painfully tight in his hand, his leathers sticking to him in the humid air; it was layered over the fear and horror pulsing through his chest like an atom bomb.

His breathing matched the rush of blood in his ears, the sharp slap of the foliage following him as he pushed through mile after mile, the sounds morphing into a morbid thrum that echoed in his head.

He could still hear her though, through the violent hum, he could still hear her whimpers, her soft moans of pain.

She whispered his name, hopeless suffering lacing every syllable.

There was an angry grunt of agony - _Diggle_ \- and then the cocking of a gun.

_No!_

He had to get to them, that was all that mattered. If he couldn’t find them, if he couldn’t save them…

_No…_

The island slowly melted into a city landscape.

Trees turned into buildings and lampposts, the moonlight became dull lights left on in windows. He was no longer holding his bow. It’d become the M1911 Anatoly had gifted him, a nod to his heritage, the one with the ivory handle and special nickel-plated engravings designating his new rank.

His fist was wrapped around the gun - _his_ gun - and the handle was slick with sweat and blood spatter. 

A cheap, crinkled suit replaced his leathers.

He ran.

_“Oliver?”_

_Something soft brushed his forehead and he cringed away from it._

Fallen logs turned into trash left to blow through the streets, snagging on rough concrete. Cars crowded the road, honking horns fill the air, people moving around in thick droves.

Oliver shoved his way through the crowds, loud shouts following him in foreign tongues, but he didn’t stop, he didn’t care. He only had eyes for the warehouse, knowing that was where he’d find them. 

He’d been there before, he’d been in that warehouse before, a long time ago, a very long time ago, but something was different.

Something had changed.

He’d been running then too.

The skin on his chest burned with the heat of the new tattoo he’d gotten a handful of hours earlier, still bleeding in some spots and stinging sharply in the sweat coating his skin.

He’d been running so hard, for so long…

_Russia._

He was back in Russia. 

_No._

Flashes of blood-laced blonde hair flickered through his mind…

Digg’s swollen jaw, blooded from a heavy blow to the face.

A thick scratch on the bridge of her nose, where her glasses had shattered when they’d hit her.

His friend’s dark eyes, glassy with death, staring up at him where they’d left his body, the bullet lodged behind his left ear.

Her shouts of pain, a dribble of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth as they hit her.

“No!”

The scream ripped from his throat as he shoved through the double doors of the warehouse, the metal slamming against the walls from the brute force…

He was too late.

_“Oliver?”_

_A hand landed on his shoulder; the touch burned him._

_Oliver jerked away, but it didn’t stop, it didn’t go away, it kept touching him._

_He reached up, grabbing it before it could hurt him anymore._

Diggle was on the ground, hands tied tight behind his back, one arm mangled from being broken, the other coated in cooling blood. 

He stared up at Oliver with lifeless eyes, a pool of red wrapping around him like a morbid crown.

And Felicity…

“Oh god, no…”

She hung in the center of the large room, dangling from the thick rope, her clothes in tatters, skin bloodied with bruises and cuts, her neck angled the wrong way, just like theirs had been, just like their bodies when he’d…

_“Oliver!”_

The sound of his name ripped him from the dream and Oliver woke with a strangled gasp.

The sight of the dead was still in his mind’s eye - his partners, his team, dead because of _him_ \- and he jerked up in his office chair, shoving himself backwards, trying to get away from where she hung, swinging like a lifeless marionette doll above Diggle’s dead body.

The chair rolled until he slammed into the credenza against his wall, jolting him back to the present again. 

Oliver blinked.

He was in his office.

In Starling City.

And she wasn’t dead.

Felicity sat perched on the edge of his desk, watching him with wide eyes, her hand hovering in the air between, like she wanted to touch him but was afraid to.

Oliver blinked rapidly, seeing her as he had in the dream - a vicious gash across her face, another on her forehead, blood soaking through her blonde hair, down her neck… and then he saw her again.

_Alive._

Blissfully alive.

Relief bowled him over and Oliver had to fight to keep from launching himself at her, from wrapping his arms around her, making sure she was there, that she wasn’t hanging from a ceiling in some cold Russian warehouse…

Like _they_ had been.

But she was here.

Alive.

It’d felt so _real_. 

Oliver’s arms physically ached to feel her, but instead he closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath, no longer smelling boat exhaust, or the stringent smell of the alleys in Russia, or the sharp stab of blood.

Starling City.

He was home.

Oliver took a deeper breath, the air pushing his lungs past their capacity, oxygen stinging its way down his airway before he finally felt his chest relaxing as the dream stayed as just that: a dream.

Felicity leaned towards him, concern coloring the delicate lines of her face. “Oliver?”

He blinked again, staring at her.

She was…

“Oliver,” she repeated, leaning closer to him.

“Yeah,” he breathed, sitting up, finally feeling the chair underneath him, the solid floor, the room. 

Oliver glanced outside; the sun was setting, casting the city in dusky oranges and pinks. 

His eyes found her again, his mind trying to catch up with how it’d been so sunny just a second ago but now it was dark. 

And then he _saw_ her, and he frowned when he saw how close she was.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, rolling his chair back towards his desk, his eyes skating over her.

“What?” Felicity frowned. “No. You were dreaming.”

Oliver frowned, his mind still struggling to break through the fog of the nightmare, but he did remember vividly the last time he’d been woken up from a nightmare. He’d gone to great lengths to keep himself from going that deep when others were around, and for him to do it here, at his office, where Felicity or Diggle were within range… it was careless.

 _Reckless_.

His voice was rough and uneven as he said, “The last time someone woke me up from a dream, I almost killed them.” 

Felicity’s eyes widened. “Oh. Well… that didn’t happen.”

Oliver rubbed his eyes, waking up more fully. The dream slowly faded from his mind, but the sick feeling didn’t. It echoed in his gut, making him feel like the half sandwich he’d choked down for lunch was going to climb its way back up his gullet.

“You let me fall asleep,” he said, rubbing his eyes until he saw stars.

“Yeah…”

“Why?” he asked, turning hard eyes on her.

Felicity sat up, raising an eyebrow at his tone.

“Because you looked like you were going to collapse,” she replied. “And because you obviously needed it. You fell asleep during the conference call.”

“Oh god,” Oliver groaned, rubbing his hand back down his face. “Isabel?”

“Has been calling almost non-stop,” Felicity filled in and Oliver groaned a quiet, “Shit,” but she didn’t miss a beat. “I told her it was an issue with the phones, that you tried to get through, but it wasn’t connecting.”

“And she bought that?”

“Not exactly,” Felicity said with a mordant smile. “But she wasn’t here to say otherwise.”

“Damn it,” Oliver sighed, covering his face again before looking at her. “Thank you. For covering.”

“As petty as it sounds, I’m not above admitting I sort of like pushing her buttons, so… benefits all around,” Felicity said. 

A tired smile graced his lips before it disappeared. 

She didn’t move as she studied him and Oliver felt her gaze on him like an actual physical touch. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m…”

“If you say the word fine, Oliver, I will hit you with this stapler.”

The smile that graced his lips this time was completely involuntary. He looked up at her, nodding. “I’m alright.” She raised her eyebrows and he leaned forward with emphasis, really meaning it this time as he repeated, “I’m alright.”

And he was. 

Despite the thrum of adrenaline still rocking through him, he felt a little better, more rested. Judging by the sky outside, he’d gotten at least four hours of sleep. It was more than he’d gotten in one sitting in the last several days.

Oliver opened his mouth to say that very thing when he caught sight of her arm, and any ounce of good he’d been feeling instantly drained away.

There was an angry red blotch wrapped around her wrist. 

“What…” He reached out to touch her before he caught himself. He made a fist instead, his eyes never leaving the spot as he quietly asked, “Did I do that?”

Felicity looked down, twisting her wrist nonchalantly, like it happened every other day. “I tried the ol’ shake-you-awake thing, but you didn’t like that.”

“So I did hurt you,” Oliver said, moving to get up but Felicity’s hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him.

“You were having a nightmare,” she said. He leaned away from her touch and she took her hand back with a patient sigh. “It’s no wonder you aren’t getting any sleep.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Oliver replied, and he missed the aggravation deepening the blue of her eyes as he rubbed his face with both hands, scrubbing them up and over his head. 

“The swimming pools under your eyes say differently,” Felicity said.

Oliver leveled her with a hard look because she didn’t look that much better, full night of sleep or not. She’d fallen asleep from pure exhaustion, and he knew from experience how little actual rest could be involved in that, especially when faced with the possibility of many more restless nights. It didn’t help that the day had only gotten longer when that report from Glades had come in. Her eyes weren’t as strained, but he could see the lack of rest and everything that had been happening starting to take their toll again.

“Hey, avert those judge-y eyes, mister,” Felicity said. “I know I’m one to talk, but mine are from staring at a computer screen twenty-four-seven, not from terrifying nightmares. Well, not all of them.”

Oliver’s brow furrowed at that, but she didn’t elaborate or give him a second to ask her what the hell that meant.

“What’d you dream about?”

Oliver closed his eyes. “Felicity…”

“Maybe it’ll help to talk about it.”

“It won’t,” he replied flatly.

“Oh, so you’ve tried it before?” she asked. “You see a therapist on the regular?”

Oliver could feel his exhaustion in the look he gave her.

“That’s what I thought.”

Oliver grabbed her wrist, touching her gingerly as he lifted it in emphasis. “I don’t want you around me when I do sleep, that’s all the talking I need to do about it.”

Felicity snorted, twisting her arm in his grasp so her wrist slid more fully into his hand as she gripped his forearm.

“You were not cognizant for this,” she said, pointing at her wrist. “You don’t get to use that as an excuse.” 

Oliver tried to let her go, but she didn’t let him, wrapping her other hand around his arm as well. 

“And besides,” she continued, keeping her tone light as she held him, giving him a smile. “Think of it this way, this is good information to have for when I need to wake you up in the future. Not that this’ll be happening very often. I don’t even think I’ve ever _seen_ you sleep actually, except for now. Not like I’d have any reason to see you sleep, or watch you sleep… which sounds really creepy, now that I’ve said it.”

Despite himself, a chuckle slipped out, making her smile widen.

An easy warmth filled him as they sat there, as he let her presence wash over him, as he let it chase away the darkness. 

He’d _tried_ , tried pulling back from her, not willing to let her near the ugliness inside him, but he was too tired to fight it.

He was so tired of fighting, and she made it so easy to not fight.

Oliver realized with a start that he barely remembered the dream. Usually it echoed for hours, but her presence alone was enough to wipe it away, leaving him with nothing but a faint memory of what he’d seen. Even the sick feeling he’d woken with was dissipating, and the longer her touched her, the longer she cradled his arm in her hands, the quicker it disappeared.

It was _disarming_.

It was the last thing he should be doing, he knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Having her there, next to him, breathing and bursting with so much life, it was a soothing balm in and of itself.

Oliver’s eyes dropped to her wrist. His thumb moved of its own volition, stroking the soft skin of her wrist. The irritated red was already starting to fade and a light trail of goosebumps appeared, streaking up her arm. Her fingers twitched, tightening on his arm, sending little bolts of electricity sizzling across his skin.

He told himself to let her go, to step back, to drop her… but he didn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to.

Felicity shifted slightly, moving closer, and his arm rubbed against her leg.

Oliver felt an entirely different kind of awareness of her take over as they sat there. 

The silence between them was comfortable, comforting even. He closed his hand around her wrist gently, wanting to soothe the skin, covering the remaining mark he’d left there.

Her wrist was so tiny in his hand, his fingers engulfing it.

How could he protect her if he was the one doing the hurting? If not for him, she’d be blissfully unaware of the dangers in Starling. Just by virtue of knowing him, he’d put her life in danger more times than he could count, and all of that didn’t even touch on what was happening currently. She’d made her point about being involved, and he knew she was right, that she deserved not only the right to know what was happening, but to help as much as she could, as she was capable of…

But what about the gala?

His stomach curdled at the thought of her being there, with him or not.

He knew why she wanted to go, and he knew why he didn’t want her to go.

Taking her there, showcasing her as “his,” it was like wrapping a piece of chicken in bacon and dangling it over a pit of starving, rabid dogs - and he’d be one of the dogs. She was exactly what the brotherhood would look for in certain women - she was willful as hell, strong and confident, absolutely beautiful, and she had more steel in her spine than most grown men, but that was the danger: she was the perfect challenge, a prime piece that could catch a pretty penny.

Was that why they’d focused on her? Had they done this with other women, all the research and surveillance?

His gut told him no, that was too much effort. 

The Bratva preferred collecting and then sorting, seeing what they’d found before assigning prices.

And that just led to the next problem, about who it was that’d requested her, and how they’d have to act because he’d claimed her as his own. It’d be so much more than this, this simple, easy touching, so much more; he could barely handle _this_ , much less anything else. He’d have to treat her a certain way, play a certain part… and he was afraid if one person looked at her the wrong way, if they even _touched_ her, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, that he’d do something he’d regret.

Just looking back at the last two days was evidence enough of that.

He had tunnel vision when it came to her, and if anything happened to her, if she was out of his sight for more than a minute and something happened…

“Stop,” Felicity said quietly, and his startled eyes flew to hers. “Stop thinking those glower-filled thoughts, I can see them all over your face.” 

“Sorry,” Oliver said, moving his mouth to offer her a smile, but he wasn’t quite sure he succeeded. Still, she gave him one, and he watched it light up her entire face.

If it was the last thing he did, he was going to find a way to make sure she smiled like that every single day for the rest of her life, and he suddenly didn’t care what he had to do to make that happen.

“I’m here, you know,” she said. “You’re not alone in this, Oliver. You won’t be alone.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, barely audible, the words slipping out before he knew he was saying them.

“Yes,” Felicity said with finality, her grip on him tightening. “You do.”

Oliver smiled, a real smile, one he couldn’t control even if he wanted to because he really, really didn’t deserve her or the light she brought into his life, but she somehow made it seem like he just might. 

Felicity’s face softened and she reached forward, cupping his cheek, her thumb tracing the corner of his lips.

“I like seeing this,” she whispered. “You should do it more often.”

Oliver stared at her.

He wanted to. He wanted to smile as often as possible just because she was the one asking.

Oliver took a shaky breath as that thought sunk in.

What was _happening_?

It had to be the close quarters and new sense of danger they were living in, but whatever it was, it was making something _shift_. It kept sneaking past his defenses, hitting him before he knew what was happening. It wasn’t a good shift, no; it was a dangerous one, one he needed to get a hold on right away. Because he couldn’t think about it, he couldn’t afford to let this be… _something_.

Because when he did, suddenly Felicity wasn’t Felicity, she was…

 _Felicity_.

It had to be the constant threat of danger surrounding them, the dreams plaguing him. It had to be because he was suddenly around her an entire twenty-four hours - they had always spent the day and most of the night together, but now he got to see her at night, which was opening the door to a whole new level of intimacy between them that hadn’t existed before - he saw her before she went to bed, saw what she wore when she took off the day’s defenses, got to be near her while she slept…

No, it had to be that his entire focus was on her, making sure she stayed safe.

That was it.

Anything else was dangerous. 

And yet…

The longer she touched him, the longer she held him like she was, the more he felt his defenses slipping away, and he was powerless to stop them.

Oliver wanted to want to move away from her, to drop her hand, to remind himself that she was _Felicity_ , and it was nothing more than that.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t _want_ to, and even if he did, he didn’t think he could.

Felicity stared at him, her eyes widening as if she saw it too.

Her lips parted in a shaky breath, and his gaze dropped to her mouth, feeling something _else_ …

Oliver moved to speak - _Fe-li-ci-ty_ \- unable to control all the things he was going to put into those few syllables when Diggle clearing his throat shattered the moment.

Oliver’s head whipped to the door, moving to shield her before realizing it was just Diggle…

And that Diggle had walked in on whatever it was that they were doing. 

But they hadn’t been doing anything.

So why did Oliver feel like he’d just gotten caught doing _something_?

They both stood up, dropping each other’s hands as they turned to face Diggle where he stood at the entrance of the office, his lips curling in a smile that made Oliver’s stomach twist.

“We’re coming,” Felicity chirped before Diggle could say anything, stepping around Oliver’s desk. 

Diggle raised his eyebrows - her voice was higher than usual - before looking back at Oliver.

Oliver averted his eyes and followed suit, because he had nothing. He rubbed his forehead again, forcing his thoughts back to where they belonged.

They definitely did not belong on watching her walk away, watching the lines of the red dress she was wearing, and yet… his eyes found her like she was the center of gravity and he was incapable of seeing anything else.

Diggle coughed, and Oliver’s eyes snapped back to him.

The other man just stared at him, fighting a smile as he shook his head, and Oliver gritted his teeth. 

“We’re stopping for food, right?” Felicity asked as she gathered her bag and jacket. “Because I need more than coffee and a scone in my stomach if I’m going to be spending the night sweating all over you guys.”

_What?_

Oliver blinked, eyes darting to her and back to Diggle. “What?”

Diggle chuckled.

“Training,” he filled in, patting Oliver on the back. “Which should make for an interesting night,” he added before following Felicity to the elevators.

Oliver glared at the back of Diggle’s head, rubbing his palms against his thighs before making tight fists, feeling the same burning awareness in his palms from that morning.

Training.

They were training tonight.

For some reason, Oliver wasn’t struggling with the fact that this was a training session specifically for Felicity going to the gala that Saturday, but the fact that he was unsure he’d be able to handle another repeat of that morning.

She’d been wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a bulky sweater then… what would she wear specifically for training?

What the _hell_ was he thinking?

The only thing Oliver was aware of when he heard the elevator ding and Diggle saying, “Move your ass, Queen,” was that he was damn glad Diggle was going to be the one taking the lead with training, because the thought of her touching like _that_ her again…

Oliver specifically avoided diving too deeply into that thought as he hurried to catch up with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews literally feed my soul and muse.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	12. Trust I seek and I find in you, every day for us something new… (47 hours before the gala…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments, kudos, reblogs, favorites and likes! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story so far - there really aren't enough words to capture how giddy each review makes me, this fandom is incredibly astute and generous, and I appreciate it so much.
> 
> This story wouldn't be anything without **Margaret** (teawhovian/TeaWithLemon) - her insight, suggestions and advice make Blood Hands what it is. Send her all the kudos.
> 
>  **This will be my last update for 2015!** The holidays are upon us and my writing time has already taken a hit, so I'll be back to updating once we're into the new year!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the update!

Felicity landed face-first on the mat with a solid smack.

She groaned, not moving.

“Ow.”

Two hours. 

Two hours of constant attacks and reminders of what John had put her through over a year ago. Felicity was pleased to find she remembered way more than she thought she did, but just when she thought she was doing a pretty good job of holding her own, dodging his hits and getting in at least one attack of her own, Diggle took her by surprise. He was always a few steps ahead of her, reading her movements with his stupid eagle eye before viciously turning it all around on her.

That was the tenth time her face had made out with the mat, and she was _not_ enjoying it.

“You need to keep your center of balance, Felicity,” Diggle said where he stood over her.

Felicity rolled onto her back with a tired moan to find his hand hovering over her. She made a face before gripping it and he yanked her to her feet like she weighed nothing.

“I can see which way you’re leaning, how you’re standing,” Diggle continued, letting her go the instant she found her feet. “Your weight isn’t distributed evenly, and I’m using it against you.”

“Right.” Felicity rubbed her side where John’s arm had landed with a solid hit… right before he’d swept her feet out from under her. “Balance.”

The differences between John’s techniques and what Oliver had been doing that morning were glaring. Not that she was thinking about that, or comparing, or finding herself slightly _distracted_ , wondering what Oliver was doing whenever she stopped hearing the telltale clink of the salmon ladder, or jumping out of her skin when he started it back up again.

It also wasn’t helping that Diggle was battering the actual hell out of her.

“You’ll be able to deflect my attack better,” he said, pulling her attention back to him. “Move with the hits, use my weight against me.”

“You’re literally three times my size,” Felicity replied breathlessly, cupping the back of her neck.

“Yeah,” Diggle said with a wily smirk. “I am. And you’re so tiny that you should be an easy target, but it’s actually your greatest asset.”

“Right,” Felicity said, rubbing the tight muscles in her shoulders, nodding. “Wing chun, right? Or wang chung, or ming chung, or whatever it’s called.”

Diggle chuckled, moving to grab their water bottles. “Yes. That.”

She sighed, letting her arms drop, her hands slapping against her thighs as she followed him. Felicity rotated her shoulders, the rush of adrenaline-fueled blood starting to abate from her ears as she waited for Diggle to pass her her towel, and her water bottle.

It took her too long to realize that the rest of the foundry was silent.

Too silent.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up, a chill falling down her spine, and her bizarre brain decided that was the right moment to think about how tight her tank top was as the chills raced over her entire body instead of realizing…

Arms suddenly wrapped around her from behind, one wrapping around her waist while the other covered her mouth, moving so fast she barely had time to comprehend anything was different before she was yanked off her feet.

Felicity let out a sharp, muffled shriek, grabbing the hand covering her mouth.

Adrenaline shot through her, a heady rush of fight or flight taking over as she simultaneously realized that Diggle had tricked her and that Oliver was _attacking_ her.

Felicity pulled her legs up to her chest, her abdominal muscles straining with the effort, using the new weight difference to force Oliver forward again. 

She didn’t have to tell her body what to do. She’d always been a quick learner; she just had to see something a few times and go through the motions before she caught on, leaving only perfecting the motion as her biggest obstacle. That, and thinking way too much. 

When that option was taken away, she was left with nothing but reacting.

Felicity suddenly dropped her weight, making Oliver buckle.

“Good!” she thought she heard Diggle saying, but it was there one second and gone the next as her feet landed on the ground again; it would have been the perfect opening to use that momentum and swing him forward except he knew exactly what she was trying to do, and the second he felt her shifting, he reacted. His quiet grunt of his only sign of strain as he stopped her abruptly and lifted her back up into the air, using the fact that he was made of pure freaking muscle against her, moving too fast for her to even think about what she should do next. 

Felicity let out a short cry, flailing in his arms, but the force of his swing shoved her right back against him and he locked on, overpowering her with an ease that left her breathless, and the urge to fight disappeared as he took over everything. She knew there was more she should be doing, that she should be planning her next move, her next attack… but it wasn’t there. She didn’t _want_ to. He was stronger than her, faster, but that wasn’t why she stopped - it was that he was _Oliver_ , and it wasn’t the urge to fight that she felt right then.

She felt herself submitting and it left her reeling as she sagged against him.

Oliver’s response was to tighten his hold on her and plant his feet, securing her in his tight embrace.

Felicity’s chest burned for air, and not because he still had his hand covering her mouth but because her back was plastered to his damp chest and his skin was _hot_ , so hot she felt like she was going to burst into flames. Her hips were fused to his, his legs actual tree trunks where he kept her immobile - keeping her pressed up against him - and she struggled to remember how to breathe at all when the arm wrapped around her middle tightened, his hand sliding slightly lower on her hip, making her burn hotter.

He was _everywhere_ , surrounding her. 

Felicity struggled to remember exactly what was happening, how he was there, wrapped around her like that, so… _everywhere_.

Was he… what, what was he…?

They didn’t move, or at least it felt like they didn’t move, like they weren’t moving, like they couldn’t move.

She felt _everything_ , and her heart took off, pounding so hard and fast she started shaking. 

_Oh god._

“Freeze right there,” Diggle said, and reality slammed her back into the moment as they did just that.

Training.

Diggle.

_Training._

Right.

Felicity felt Oliver’s even breaths puffing against the back of her neck, making her shiver, but they weren’t normal shivers.

No, these were something else.

_Heated shivers._

Felicity’s lungs positively ached for the oxygen she was denying herself.

How was she so winded after only literally five seconds of moving?

It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that Oliver’s very sweaty and hard chest was pressed flush against her back, her tank top leaving so much of her skin exposed that she felt so much of him, or that his arms were like bands of steel where they were wrapped around her, or that she could feel every single movement his fingers were making on her hips… every twitch, every little shift, every time he held her a little tighter before easing off like he was only just then realizing what he was doing.

Oliver slowly released his hold on her mouth, his hand dropping to cover her shoulder.

Felicity blinked.

Was his heart pounding? Or was that hers, and it was doing enough for the both of them?

Felicity had been more than ready to throw in the towel well over half an hour ago. The lack of sleep and proper anything being taken care of over the last few days had made the training session feel like it was scooping out her energy instead of slowly siphoning it away, like normal… but now, now a renewed jolt of vigor hit her. She was more awake than she had been since the inadvertent training session at four that morning.

She tightened her hold on his arm, and he responded by squeezing her shoulder lightly, almost like he was asking if she was okay.

Which was probably all in her imagination.

Right?

Right.

Still, she found herself giving him a short nod, and Oliver relaxed… but he didn’t let her go. Instead he ran his thumb over the bare skin of her shoulder, making her shiver again.

Felicity swallowed slowly, ignoring the buzzing of awareness in her ears - he’d attacked her, he’d just attacked her without any warning, she should be remembering that, that he was supposed to be the bad guy… but it was _Oliver_ , and she felt nothing but a quiet sense of security in his arms, like nothing would ever hurt her as long as she stayed right there.

Diggle launched into a lengthy explanation of what she could do next. She struggled to pay attention as he knelt next to them, touching the areas he was talking about, how she could use the position against her attacker.

He suddenly lifted her leg, forcing Oliver to hold her tighter to compensate for the lack of balance, and she had absolutely no idea what Diggle said next; all her attention was on Oliver’s hands, and his body, and his muscles, and…

And she needed to _stop thinking_ because this was bad. All bad.

Diggle was saying something about kicking, about her heel… about _driving_ her heel into her attacker, wherever she could, telling her she should use everything she had at her disposal.

Including biting.

That was surprisingly grounding… until her mind jumped to the next thought of biting Oliver, where she could bite Oliver, of what he would taste like and _wow_ , she needed to _never think again_.

“Biting?” Felicity repeated, shaking her head, grasping for something to say. “Isn’t that kind of a cheap shot?”

“That’s very noble of you, Felicity,” Diggle replied with a small smile. “But it won’t feel like a cheap shot when a stranger is doing this to you.”

“I don’t know, they might be really concerned with sportsmanship, and biting doesn’t seem very sportsmanlike. What’s next, pulling hair?”

“A fair fight is the last thing they’re going to give you,” Oliver said quietly, his breath skating over the shell of her ear and she prayed to the Google gods her eyes didn’t shut like she thought they did, or that she didn’t shiver like she might have, or…

Or _anything_.

Felicity gave him a quick nod, shifting slightly, inadvertently pressing closer to him, where she thought she felt… something.

 _No_.

No, she was imagining things.

Lots of things.

 _Bad things_.

Oliver squeezed her shoulder again, and she swore she felt him shifting in kind, felt his face move just enough that his nose brushed against the frizzy curls at the base of her neck, felt his chest as he took a deep breath…

 _Oh god_.

This time she definitely shivered, and she knew he felt it because he squeezed her hip, holding her tighter.

“You two can relax now,” Diggle said.

Oliver instantly released her, stepping back several paces, leaving Felicity to stumble before she caught herself. Her hand flew to her shoulder, still feeling the ghost of his touch, feeling his arms wrapped around her, holding her.

But he hadn’t been holding her. 

_Training._

The center of her back burned, like his eyes were on her, and Felicity fought the urge to look back. 

Something was happening. 

No, nothing was happening. 

This was her applying way too much meaning to things that weren’t happening, because she was ridiculous. This new _energy_ between them was all in her head - the ‘what if’ had always been on her side, and the increased stress of the last few days was just doing her in, that was all this was.

Just like earlier at the office, she’d _imagined_ the way his eyes had warmed, his pupils dilating, his face softening… the way he’d leaned into her touch, into her hand where she still cupped his cheek, looking up at her like… well, in a way that’d made her heart leap into her throat, and then his eyes had dropped down her lips…

“Oh boy,” Felicity whispered under her breath, shaking her arms out.

Nope. She was imagining it. She had to be, because that had been so much more than everything else combined and she wasn’t sure that was… she couldn’t… it wasn’t…

God, she couldn’t even _think_.

No, she could think, but all she could think about was that Oliver of Last Week wouldn’t have kissed her forehead, or held her like he had; he wouldn’t have whispered those soft words, the sincerity in his eyes resonating inside her, making her feel so safe, _knowing_ he’d never let anything happen to her; he wouldn’t have moved as close as he had that morning, he wouldn’t have opened up as much as he had about his past, about who he was in the Bratva, about what it meant, and he definitely, _definitely_ wouldn’t have looked at her like he had in his office; he wouldn’t have held her back just as tightly, he wouldn’t have let his defenses down, almost like he _wanted_ to let her in…

No, she was pretty sure Oliver of Last Week would have just asked if she was alright last night, and taken her word for it when she said she was; he would’ve walked right past her and her poor attempts at punching with a, “What are you doing?” before disappearing; he wouldn’t have told her jack about the Bratva until it was so relevant he couldn’t _not_ tell them and he wouldn’t have touched her as long as he had, wouldn’t have let his thumb run over the spot he’d grabbed in his sleep.

He definitely wouldn’t have let himself fall asleep as he had, letting his guard down, which told her both how exhausted he was and how safe she and Diggle made him feel.

That she made him feel safe in any, way, shape or form filled something inside her, something she didn’t even know was empty until she’d looked into his office and seen him slumped in his chair. Even Isabel’s repeated calls hadn’t woken him, or Thea’s.

How long had it been since he’d let his guard down around anyone? Since he’d trusted anyone enough?

 _This_ on the other hand…

Felicity took in a shaky breath.

This was something else.

Which was why the only explanation was that it was a figment of her overactive imagination.

The heated spot in her back disappeared as Oliver moved back to his corner of the foundry, not looking back. Felicity lifted her ponytail off her neck, watching him got for a second before looking away. She jumped when her towel and water bottle were suddenly thrust in front of her.

“Thanks,” she said, and Diggle grunted in response as she took a heavy pull of water before wiping her face, tossing the towel over her shoulder, taking another drink. 

Her heart was starting to calm down, which was good. Very good. Although what wasn’t very good was the sudden energy streaking through her veins. She’d been ready to drop a few minutes ago and now she felt like she could do twenty laps around the block and still have plenty of energy to spare.

“So what’s next?” Felicity asked. “Punching? Kicking? Maybe some biting practice?”

Diggle smirked, grabbing his own towel, wiping his face before picking up his t-shirt.

“Hair-pulling then?” Felicity offered with a smile, and that earned her a laugh. 

“Actually, next…” Diggle said, tugging the shirt over his head. “I go home.”

“Got a hot date?” Felicity asked, taking another drink of water, bouncing on her toes a bit before she realized what she was doing. God, it was like a weird nervous energy was literally crackling across her skin. 

“If you count me taking A.J. to the movies,” Diggle said. “Some new movie is premiering tonight, I said I’d take him.”

“Oh,” Felicity said, nodding. “Is that maybe including Carly?”

Diggle shook his head. “No, not really.” He grabbed his jacket. “I think that ship has sailed. That doesn’t mean I’m still not expected to spoil the hell out of my nephew though.”

“Darn tootin’ it doesn’t,” Felicity said, throwing her fist in the air in an exaggerated fist pump. 

Diggle paused, a weird smile on his face before he glanced over at where Oliver had disappeared. 

“You know,” he drawled. “If you’re still wanting to keep going, I’m sure Oliver could help out.”

Felicity’s heart stopped at the suggestion, and she instantly froze where she’d been shaking her hand out, like she was able to _whip_ the energy off her or something.

Diggle raised his eyebrows, glancing back at Oliver’s self-created corner. 

“He’s just been sitting in the corner, brooding all night,” he said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“No,” Felicity said, shaking her head, waving her hand where Diggle was looking before waving at herself. “That… no, this is… I’m beat. I should get some sleep.”

Diggle eyed her for a long moment, looking like he was fighting a bigger smile before he shrugged. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep,” Felicity said, nodding as he turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

“I’m out for the night, Oliver,” Diggle said, his raised voice echoing in the foundry before he headed upstairs, a distant grunt from Oliver the only thing he got in response.

And then… there was just her.

Felicity stood by herself in the middle of the mats, her foot bouncing slightly.

Maybe she could take up running, although that wasn’t exactly a safe idea in that scary part of the Glades that late at night. Maybe she could talk to the boys about getting a treadmill installed, although now that she was thinking about it, the only time she’d really use it was at that very moment.

Because running, all the time?

No.

She was more of an elliptical girl.

Oh, maybe an elliptical!

Felicity shook out her hands again before rolling her eyes at herself. She looked around. Oliver had disappeared, leaving just her and… her computers. And the cameras.

“Right,” she said, heading towards her workstation. “Back traces. Gimme all the back traces.”

She dropped her water bottle and towel and clicked on the keyboards. The screens lit up, but the second she saw the little signal still bouncing to and fro, her shoulders fell. 

The first thing they’d done when they’d gotten back was set up the back trace on the camera that had been in her vent, but whoever had set it up had more than covered their tracks. The signal was bouncing everywhere, and the process of finding it was moving slower than a snail’s pace. It was frustrating, because it meant whoever had set up the camera had someone who knew what they were doing on their side. And that was both annoying and worrying, and the longer it took to find the feed source, the more worrying it got because it meant someone had gone to great lengths to hide their identity.

All for _her_ … and that led her right back around to the big question: _why_?

Felicity chewed on the tip of her tongue, watching the signal bounce around.

“Time, time, time,” she whispered. “Just give me a bucket of time and I’ll find you.”

“Who?” Oliver asked, right over her shoulder.

“Gah!” Felicity yelped, whirling around to face him.

He took a few steps back, his eyes staying on her for a fraction of a second before he looked at her computers. He was still shirtless, which was even more distracting than usual because now she knew exactly what all that felt like pressed up against her.

 _Oh wow_ , so not the time.

“You have got to stop doing that sneaky ninja thing around me,” Felicity said.

“Sorry,” Oliver offered, offering her a tight, contrite smile before his eyes found the computer screen again. “What’s that?”

“That,” Felicity said, turning back to the screen. “Is me trying to find out where the camera feed is going, a.k.a. me trying to find a needle in a haystack apparently. I tell you, those Russian mobsters are surprisingly sophisticated tech-wise.”

“No luck at all?”

“They are being _elusive_ ,” Felicity replied, tapping a few keys, her mind already jumping ahead a few paces. She was sure she wasn’t going to be getting any sleep for a while, so she’d have more time later to nail down a few more algorithms to help boost the search. Still, she made a few adjustments, but it did nothing to speed it up. She sighed. “And that is putting it kindly.”

Very kindly.

Too kindly.

Stupid Russian jerks and their stupid really-good-tech-having ways.

It was a good thing she was better.

She’d find them.

Tapping out a few more commands, Felicity watched the target bounce around a little quicker, overly aware that Oliver hadn’t moved, and that he wasn’t moving. She tapped fingers lightly on the F and J keys, her eyes staying on the little target, her mind racing ahead on more than a few fronts now.

“So you know these guys pretty well, right?” Felicity asked. Silence was her answer, but she definitely felt the change in the air between them. She stood up slowly and turned to face him. His face was blank, unhappy eyes on her. “Like, maybe…” Felicity made a face, waving at the mats. “You could teach me some of their attack moves, or modes, or… whatever you’d call it.”

His face darkened, his eyes narrowing.

“You know, like what to expect from big brawly Russian bodyguards, or any Russian for that matter. Do they train differently or do they have special moves, like are they super fluent in the ways of Dark Side of the Force?”

Oliver’s blank look slowly melted into one of stone.

“Just to be extra prepared on Saturday.”

The instant the word ‘Saturday’ left her lips, a whirl of emotions lit up eyes before he shuttered them. Oliver took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stared at her, but he did nothing else.

It was becoming unnerving, the way he could go from hot to cold in three seconds flat.

“Okay,” Felicity said, waiting for a more seconds but all he did was look at her. It was starting to make her fidget and she just started talking. “So… how about secret handshakes, or secret code words? Do you guys do code words? Are they in Russian? Of course they’re in Russian, it’s the _Russian mob_. Okay, so… is it the kind of club where if you taught me some of them, you’d get in trouble because it’s like a ‘boys only’ thing where…” 

One second he was standing before her, his shoulders tense, his face taut with growing agitation, a foot of space between them… 

And the next he was moving.

Oliver stepped towards her abruptly, making her choke on the rest of her words. Felicity stumbled backwards, running into her chair, the heavy cushion slamming into her back. He didn’t relent as he crowded her, not even when the chair rammed into the desk from the force of her trying to get away from him, not even when there was nowhere else to go. His arms shot up to grip the chair, to keep it from moving as he pressed himself against her, until there was nothing left between them but her startled gasps and his harsh breaths.

His body was flush with hers, heat coming off him in waves as he wrapped himself around her, his warmth echoing the razor sharp blush rushing across her skin, making her shiver. She felt it all the way down to her toes as he pushed her until they were both leaning across the back of her chair.

She was vaguely aware that she was gripping the chair just as tightly as he was, that her nailbeds were aching with the force of her hold on the cushion, and that the way her arms were bent back was shoving her chest right into his.

He was so _hot_ ; his skin was _searing_ , slicing right through her thin tank top, his sweats barely a barrier against her yoga pants.

He was _everywhere_ , and she felt _everything_ , and Felicity completely forgot how to breathe as he stared at her.

“This,” Oliver said softly, his voice low, “Is what I will have to do the entire night, to prove to the brotherhood that you are mine.”

_Mine._

Felicity’s stomach dropped, and she barely managed breath as the word rattled through her head.

“O-okay,” she managed, swallowing past the lump in her throat, barely getting past the desert her mouth had become. “Okay…”

Oliver’s eyes dropped to her lips, and her stomach more than dropped as he watched her lips move; he looked transfixed, like he was watching something far more exceptional than her struggling to breathe. They darkened, his brow growing heavy, and something hot and languid slowly uncoiled in the pit of her stomach as she watched him watch her.

 _Oh god_.

Felicity licked her lips and Oliver’s pupils dilated, making her heart trip all over itself as the heat inside her spread like wildfire.

“Oliver,” she breathed. 

His eyes slowly dragged back up to meet hers.

The heat in her core exploded, and she couldn’t bite back the whimper that slipped past her lips. Oliver inhaled sharply in response, his chest expanding against hers, making her insides melt even more as she leaned into him.

 _Oh god_ , what was happening, what was he…? 

A tiny noise sounded from deep inside him, and Oliver pushed closer, his body moving against hers in a way that made her breath hitch, that made her eyes flutter shut, that made her almost let go of the chair and wrap herself around him, hold on, to pull him closer to her, to feel _more_ …

But then he pulled back.

Oliver smiled, a not-so-gentle smile that doused the fire inside her when it didn’t reach his eyes, when his lips simply curled, empty and cold. 

Felicity blinked, furrowing her brow at the sudden transformation, and her heart skipped a beat for an entirely different reason as a very different Oliver stared down at her, staring at her like she was… like he wasn’t seeing _her_. Ice filed her chest as he cocked his head, and she fought the urge to shrink away from him.

“I’ve told them that you’re mine, Felicity,” he said, and she shivered at the darkness in his words. “Which means I’ll have to treat you like you’re mine.” He narrowed his eyes. “There is a code in the Bratva, and it comes first, always.”

“A code?” she asked, her voice cracking. She had no idea what he was talking about, barely able to comprehend what he was saying past the rush of blood through her ears, the adrenaline making her knees weak, the reality of his words slowly coming to the surface…

_“I’ve told them you’re mine, Felicity… which means I’ll have to treat you like you’re mine.”_

_Mine…_

And just like that, the ice evaporated, swept up in a swath of heat at the implication behind the word.

“Oh,” was all she could manage.

He didn’t react to the sound of her voice falling apart at all. His gaze remained steady, his touch sure and confident, which only made her feel like she was going to melt more, and she had no idea if it was because it was him who was touching her like this, or if it was because of what he was insinuating.

“Nothing comes before the code, unless there is a very specific reason why it should.”

Felicity blinked. 

What?

“Do you understand, Felicity?”

She knew she should be hearing more than the way he dragged her name out, that the sound of his tongue hitting every single syllable in her name shouldn’t be making her chest feel so full, but it did.

Felicity licked her lips, and his eyes dropped back down, making her gasp.

“Felicity,” he said, his tone sharper.

“It doesn’t sound so bad,” she whispered without thinking, not fully aware of what she was responding to. 

His eyes narrowed dangerously and she started at the sudden change, but before she could say anything else, Oliver’s hand slid from the chair to her throat, his calluses scraping over her delicate skin as he cupped the back of her neck in a tight grip, one that had everything inside her turning molten, and then he stepped closer, literally pushing her back over the chair.

Felicity’s mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening as her hands flew towards him for something to hold on to, one hand sprawling over his burn scar, the other grabbing his tensed bicep where he towered over her.

He was everywhere, pushing against her _everywhere_ , and she felt _him_ as the full length of his body…

Oliver wrapped his hand around her throat, his thumb pressing against her pulse point in a purely threatening manner, one that instantly broke through the haze in her head. Her heart had already been pounding to the point of making her dizzy, but now it really took off as she froze, fight or flight kicking in so hard and fast it left her breathless.

His thumb pressed down, just enough for a surge of panic to set in, for her to fight him, and she choked out a gasp, shoving on him.

Oliver instantly let her go. 

He stepped back, leaving her draped over the chair, his face quietly drawn with resolve.

Felicity stared at him, her hands still hovering in front of her.

They were shaking, not from fear, but from adrenaline.

And a wild shock of anger that was suddenly burning in the pit of her stomach.

“That’s why we won’t be going,” he said, and the words sliced through her like a rusted knife.

_What?_

Felicity blinked, and then she blinked again.

Oliver waited for her to say something, but when she did nothing, he nodded, and then he turned away from her. 

Felicity was moving before she knew what she was doing.

“Wait,” she snapped as she shoved off the chair, barely noticing that where a few minutes ago she’d felt like she was going to melt into the floor, but now, now she was solid, and ready to _kick his ass_. She walked around him until she was facing him. “You just tried to intimidate me.”

“Yes, I did,” he replied baldly. “And it proved my point.”

Felicity shook her head incredulously. “Which point is that exactly, that you’re a Neanderthalian jackass?”

A spark of anger lit up his eyes before he shoved it down. “No. That this is way over our heads, that this is crossing a line.” 

“Crossing a _line_?” Felicity stared at him, seeing right through his words. “Do you not think I can handle it?”

“What?”

“You don’t think I can handle all the… touching, all the manhandling or whatever you’d have to do. Is that it? What do you think I’ll…”

“No,” Oliver said sharply, cutting her off. “I don’t _want_ you to have to handle it, Felicity. That isn’t a world you need to be involved in, _ever_.” Oliver took a slow breath, enunciating each word carefully as he said, “We’ll find another way.”

“Like what, sneak in in your Arrow suit?” Felicity asked, sarcasm dripping from every letter. “Whisper through the crowd, listen in on conversations that could literally be about _anything_? That won’t be inconspicuous at all, no. Or maybe you thought about bugging the entire museum? Oliver, I barely hacked into the one Bratva database I did find, and it had several layers of Cyrillic mumbo-jumbo that meant absolutely nothing to me, and I got through about three layers before my translation program started pushing Cyrillic back _at_ me. I can barely find the feed origin for these cameras,” she said, waving at her computers, “And you really think you’re going to be able to bug a Bratva gala where we _know_ they’re going to be talking about the nightclubs? You really think they won’t have something set up to counteract that?"

Oliver’s shoulders dropped in a heavy sigh, but she didn’t stop.

“And last time I checked, we’re both adults, Oliver, which means if you can handle _touching_ me however you’re going to be touching me, I’m pretty sure I can handle being touched. One night of acting will not kill us.”

Oliver paused, disbelief filling in the lines of his face. “Acting?”

“Yes, _acting_. We can act, we can play the part.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he asked. “This isn’t a game, Felicity, this isn’t sneaking into a mob-run casino, or sneaking past security in a business high rise downtown. The Bratva are _snakes_. They are _dangerous_ and they will stop at nothing to get what they want, and right now, what they want is _you_! And I don't know why, I don't know how to protect you from that. This is _your_ life at stake, why can’t you get that?”

“I do get it,” Felicity started but Oliver cut her off.

“No, you don’t,” he replied, his voice rising to overtake hers. “You don’t get that you aren’t the one who’ll have to deal with… God, Felicity, I’m not okay with you risking your life like it means nothing!”

“It _does_ mean something, Oliver,” Felicity said. “Just like yours does, just like John’s. Do you even hear yourself? How do you think I feel having to watch you go out every single night, risking your life, wondering if the gunshots I hear over the comms are the last thing I’ll ever hear from you, or when I know you’re getting hurt and I can’t do anything about it, or you’re stuck somewhere, dying, and nobody can reach you? You ask it of me _every single day_.” 

“It’s different-”

“No,” Felicity said vehemently. “It’s not.”

“Yes, it is!” Oliver replied with just as much intensity. “Because with you, it’s different, because I’m not… I just, I… I _can’t_ , Felicity.”

The unspoken words hung in the air between them.

Oliver stared at her, and with each second that passed, the more he let her _see_.

It was _her_.

He couldn’t lose _her_.

The realization hit Felicity square in the chest, sucking the air right out of her lungs. It wasn't just the danger in general, or that they were going into a volatile situation, it was that _she_ was going in there.

He stared at her, willing her to _see_.

The weight of what he was saying was like lead in her stomach, chained to her heart, tugging - _tearing_ \- because she _wanted_ to tell him that she understood, she wanted to tell him that she wouldn’t go, that she'd let him handle it, but she _couldn't_. She couldn't sit by and let others take the fall in her place, she _wouldn't_. 

And he knew it. He _had_ known it, and as he watched the torrent of thoughts crossing her face, he gritted his teeth, his shoulders tightening, his chest rising and falling in quick rapid breaths that were too shallow to be doing any good.

How could she make him understand that she felt the exact same way he did? If it was within his control, he would be out there, doing everything in his power to _stop_ the badness, but when it was her, when she wanted to do the same thing, he fought her every inch of the way?

"Felicity…"

And just like he could read her so easily, she read the emotions rushing over him, and she was shaking her head before he could finish.

"No, Oliver," she said, her voice soft as she shook her head. The look on his face made her chest ache as he looked away. She felt the undeniable urge to tell him what he wanted to hear, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. "My life, my choice, remember?"

His response was a glare so filled with frustrated anger that it almost made her pause.

 _Almost_.

Instead, she let it harden her resolve.

"So," she said, squaring her shoulders. "We're gonna… act, and… Practice!" 

Yes, _practice_. That was _perfect_. She clapped her hands, but he didn't budge.

Oliver just stared at her, not moving, not giving anything away. It was different than before, in a way she couldn’t quite explain. She watched the strange new Oliver she'd only glimpsed in the last few days take over again, his eyes hardening, the lines in his face growing harsh. 

The air around him slowly grew… _unstable_ , like he was going to snap any second.

Snap at _her_.

If he was trying to scare her again, she wasn't going to let him.

"Practice," she repeated. "Practice makes perfect, and we definitely need to perfect this… this…" 

Felicity waved her hands between them, remembering the way he'd been pressed up against her, and how she’d reacted to it. She’d reacted like he’d never done that before, which wouldn’t work, would it? No, they needed to be… not that, they needed to be _more_. Except he wasn’t doing anything. Oliver was an immovable wall where he stood before her, all harshly cut lines… it was kind of amazing how _soft_ he’d felt a minute ago when he’d been pressed up against her…

And now was so not the time for thinking like _that_. 

That wasn’t part of acting. Or was it?

Was it acting to remember how his fingers had felt on the back of her neck, how the skin suddenly felt hot, the fine hair at the base of her neck standing up at the memory?

"Practice," she said again, stepping up to him. He did nothing, just watching her and she bit her bottom lip before realizing what she was doing. _Nope_ , she did that when she was nervous, and she wasn't about to show him that he was making her _nervous_. She nodded, shaking her hands out a bit before waving at him. "Let's do this, let's… come on, get on me again."

That got a reaction out of him, but not the one she might've expected.

His entire demeanor _darkened_ , and this time she couldn't hide the nervous butterflies that slammed into her stomach.

"Not like get _on_ me, we definitely don't have to go that far, not like… getting on anyone. Talk about crossing lines, that would definitely be crossing a line because any getting on or off, or… There won't be any getting _off_ , of any kind, because that's _really_ crossing a line."

Felicity laughed, and it sounded as trill and ridiculous as she knew it would, but Oliver was impassable.

"You know," Felicity said. "If you weren't being so very _Oliver_ right now, that would've made you at least smile."

Nothing.

"Fine," Felicity said, shrugging. "Just know that this is what we'll have to deal with if we don't prepare. And that's… that's what we're doing, _preparing_ , so… here we go."

Felicity took in a quick breath, her eyes dropping to his chest - his _huge_ chest, which had somehow _grown_ in the last few minutes - and before she could lose her nerve, she pressed her hands to his skin.

She didn't miss the way his breath caught, how his pecs tightened under her fingers, or how _warm_ he was or how her heart tried to leap right out of her chest, sending a rush of heat straight into the pit of her stomach.

He didn’t move, and neither did she.

Her fingers flexed over the burn scar on his right pectoral - it’d taken her a long time to categorize all his scars, but the ones she had catalogued in her mind were just the ones she could see from a distance. There were dozens of scars littering him, some so tiny they were barely visible, others so old that they’d faded to nothing but a light glimmer in the right light. The handful of stories she’d caught over the last several months covered maybe a handful of all the damage he carried.

His skin was a literal roadmap of where he’d been, what had happened to him, and when.

Felicity took a step closer, her eyes taking in all the marks, the ones she’d never seen before, the different variations on the ones she had noticed, how much different they looked up close.

She let her fingers slide across the surface of the burn scar, her fingers skating over it, dipping in and out of the ridges… she didn’t notice the goosebumps erupting over his skin, his tiny shudder as she wondered what had to have happened to leave a wound like that. It was surprisingly soft, like he rubbed the scar often, wearing the harsh skin down.

And then his tattoo, the star tattoo.

She had no idea what it meant - she had no idea what any of his tattoos meant, and she took a second to marvel that she’d never taken the time to look any of them up, to find out their meaning. But the idea of diving into his past like that, of butting into his world just because she was curious, it’d felt too personal; it _still_ felt too personal.

 _This_ felt too personal… but she didn’t stop.

She didn’t want to.

Felicity’s eyes followed the jagged lines of the tattoo, feeling an odd sense of familiarity as her fingers followed. The tattoo looked older than a few years; all his tattoos looked like he’d gotten them twenty years ago, not just within the last six years.

He was able to hide what had happened to him those five long years away, but his body couldn’t.

Felicity wanted to find every single mark and erase it from his body. She wanted to take away all the pain he’d felt, strip it away until the weight was gone, until he could breathe, until he didn’t look at her and see all the things that had happened to him, all the things he’d done…

But at the same time, these scars, every single one of them, were what made him _Oliver_. 

And she wouldn’t change that for the world.

And wow, maybe it was time to take try that sleep thing because she was getting way too profound.

Over _scars_.

Over Oliver, who was still standing before her, silent and unmoving, barely breathing.

And he was still _pissed_.

Anger radiated off of him and Felicity caught the sight of his hands curled into tights fists at his sides, like he was barely keeping himself from moving.

“Right,” she said, nodding, moving her hands again. 

_Practice_.

Gone was the curious and gentle caress she’d totally accidentally just been doing - she was mad at him, she was damn mad at him, and she needed to remember that - and in its place was a series of awkward pats and her making a show of rubbing her palms against his chest.

“See?” she said, chancing a glance up with what she hoped was a smile. “Doing good so far…”

But Oliver still wasn’t moving. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing. He stood stock-still, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes hooded where he stared down at her. He looked like he was in… _pain_.

Felicity instantly removed her hands, taking a step back. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to… rub weird, or… whatever.”

His nostrils flared with a quick exhale as he bit out, “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Felicity said tentatively, waving at him. “Well, you could at least act like…”

Oliver snatched her hands out of midair, and before Felicity could properly process what was happening, he had her wrists clasped together in one large hand and he was spinning her around, yanking her back against his chest again.

Felicity let out a startled squeak, alarm streaking through her as she tried to pull her arms free but he held her tight, plastering her back to his chest in move of pure intimidation. 

She yanked even harder, trying to get away, but he was too fast and too strong. 

Oliver wrapped his arms around her, banding her hands against her stomach as he wrapped his other arm around her chest, his hand grabbing the side of her neck, his thumb sliding up along her throat right up under her chin, forcing her head back, immobilizing her completely.

Felicity froze, letting out a stuttered breath. 

He was completely wrapped around her; he was _everywhere_ again, and she couldn’t _think_. 

All she could concentrate on was how very much _him_ there was, all around her; she felt his measured breaths against the shell of her ear, tickling the stray strands against her temple, his rough stubble scraping against her scalp. It scraped _harder_ , making her gasp, as he adjusted her slightly, pulling her in closer as he took in a shaky breath of his own.

He was shaking.

Or was that her? 

And…

 _Muscle_.

Had he always had that much muscle? So much muscle, _everywhere_.

The heat of his body made the foundry air feel like ice where it grazed her skin and Felicity shivered, and she didn’t realize she was trying to choke out a breath until Oliver shifted his face so his mouth was right at her ear.

“Breathe, Felicity,” he whispered and she shivered.

“Okay,” she replied, nodding slightly. “I get it.”

She didn’t, but she knew it was the quickest way to get him off her and she needed that like she needed air because putting two words together, much less an entire sentence, wasn’t going to happen with him _right there_.

Why was he always _right there_?

Felicity expected him to let her go, just like he had earlier, but he didn’t. He actually held her _tighter_ , gripping her wrists together, right before it might hurt, his thumb pressing on her chin as if to remind her it was there.

Like she needed a _reminder_.

What the hell was happening, what was he _doing_?

“Get what?” Oliver asked.

Felicity moved her head to break from his hold but Oliver only slid his hand up further, keeping her still. She’d thought her heart had been racing before; now it slammed into high gear, and she really had no idea if it was from something as ridiculous as actually being afraid of Oliver - that wasn’t it, she knew that wasn’t it - or if it was the way he was touching her.

He was doing it on purpose.

“Oliver, you can stop now,” she breathed.

He didn’t relent.

“If you go to the gala…” he started, his voice so quiet, it was almost… serene. 

Felicity swallowed, waiting, ice settling in the pit of her stomach at the odd note she heard in his words - the cold detachment. 

“This is what your entire night will be,” he said. “Someone in the organization wants you, and I have made a direct challenge to that, which means if I don’t keep constant contact with you, if I don’t keep you in my sight at all times, if I’m not… _laying_ my claim on you in some way, it’s very likely they’ll take you right then and there.”

With each and every word he spoke, the ice grew heavier, a strange counter-sensation to the suffocating heat surrounding her.

“Do you understand?” he asked, moving just enough so his lips brushed over her ear. “This isn’t something we can just come back from, Felicity.”

Felicity shuddered at the promise in his words, her mouth going dry. 

“So,” she said, taking a steadying breath before continuing, the words just flowing without a second thought, without pause, trying to feed the deceiving calmness in what he was saying. “Okay, you have to keep touching me all night, because you… what, stole me?”

Oliver let out a humorless chuckle, brushing over the loose strands of hair at her temple.

He didn’t answer.

“So… now that I’m _yours_ ,” Felicity continued, stressing the word, wanting to remind him that this was _his_ doing, that he’d put them on this road, not her. “Isn’t it a little, I don’t know, disrespectful? To just take me?”

“What do you think I did, Felicity?” Oliver replied without hesitation and her eyes fluttered shut before she could catch herself. “ _I_ took you. The Code comes first, always, and when I told Alexi you were mine, that was me putting something - _someone_ \- before another member, and that’s…” He paused, and she held her breath, waiting. “That is _frowned on_.”

 _Frowned on_.

He’d gone against the Code the brotherhood followed, challenged another member, _took_ something that another member wanted… he did it, despite what would happen to him, despite the fact that it had put his standing and maybe even his life in danger… he’d still done it. 

For _her_.

“And now you have to follow through with it,” Felicity said slowly.

Oliver nodded with a barely audible, “Yes.”

Felicity’s chest hollowed out as the full ramifications of what he was saying hit her. 

They _had_ to go, not because of the clubs or the women whose lives would be in danger, but because _he_ was in danger too.

The weight of what he’d done - what he’d done _for her_ \- slammed into her. 

“Oliver…” she whispered, choking on the acid burning the back of her throat. “Why?”

Oliver stiffened. “What?”

“Why’d you do that?” Felicity asked. “You could have just… let it go, or pretended like you were getting me, or taken the information and hidden me, or… I don’t know, but not this! Because now you have to go, don’t you? If you don’t go, if you don’t show up with me, or…” Felicity froze. “Oliver, what will they do if you aren’t there?”

He was quiet for a split second too long, and Felicity _knew_. 

“Oliver,” she breathed, shaking her head, and he cut her off.

“It doesn’t matter what happens to me, Felicity,” he said quietly, and she knew that was true. Too true, way too true. “I only care about you.”

“ _I_ care,” she snapped. “ _I_ care what happens to you.” She tugged on her arms again, but he kept her still. “Oliver, let me go, I… God, if I had agreed to not go, if I’d said, ‘Okay, let’s hide out and try something else,’ that would’ve made things _worse_ for you, wouldn’t it? You would’ve…”

“Felicity…”

“No,” she said with a vehemence that made them both freeze. She was shaking, she knew it was her this time as she shook her head, the burn in the back of her throat worsening as a hundred different scenarios ran through her head, all of them ending bad, so bad. Her voice cracked as she said, “You can’t ask that of me, Oliver, you cannot ask me to stand down and not do anything when you could get killed!”

“That won’t happen,” Oliver said, and she didn’t believe him. 

_She didn’t believe him_.

He couldn’t lose her, he wouldn’t be able to handle it if something happened to _her_ , but what if something happened to _him_? 

“Let me go!” Felicity growled, twisting in his grasp. Oliver relented, letting her hands go abruptly, but he didn’t move far, he didn’t step away, almost like he wanted to make sure she was okay, or like he was still trying to prove a point. She didn’t know, and she didn’t _care_. The only thing she could compute was that he still had his arms wrapped around her, that he was saying something… 

He was physically _there_ , but he was also so far gone she couldn’t even see him anymore.

How could he not see that _she_ cared about him, that the thought of losing him was too much to bear, that she couldn’t live in a world without him either, and that the fact that he was even _thinking_ of demanding she let him risk of his life for hers, like his meant nothing, like he didn’t care… 

The thought pushed her over the edge of a cliff she didn’t even realize was there and a surge of anger lit her chest.

Felicity moved.

She grabbed one of his wrists and jabbed the heel of her sneaker into his foot.

“Oh, hey!… What are…?” Oliver managed, but she was already slamming her elbow into his stomach with as much force as she could muster, taking him completely by surprise. 

He doubled over for a split second and Felicity took advantage, spinning in the opposite direction, using her own momentum just like Diggle had taught her last summer. She twisted in the confined space and hit Oliver square in the face with a tightly closed fist.

Pain exploded in her knuckles as they collided with his cheekbone, and Felicity let out a tiny cry, hot agony slicing through her hand and up her arm as Oliver stumbled back a step. The pain was quickly followed by pride and the realization that she suddenly felt so much better - _lighter_ \- and then it swung right back to pain because _ow_.

Oliver’s hand coming up to his cheek in shock, his eyes finding hers.

“Oh… _frak_ ,” Felicity gasped, looking down at her hand - the knuckles were beet red, remnants from her faux training early that morning and his stubble and his _ridiculously_ hard face - before looking back at him, cradling her hand gingerly as she nodded, breathing way too hard considering she hadn’t really done anything.

But she had.

She really had.

She’d just punched Oliver in the face.

 _Oh, wow_.

“See that?” she asked, gesturing to his face with her elbow - her hand was more than out of commission. “If anything happens - and we’re keeping at ‘if’ status because that’s where it belongs - I’ll be okay, until you catch up. Because I know you won’t be far behind. Okay?”

Oliver didn’t reply, and for once since this entire thing had started, Felicity actually didn’t mind.

She felt so much _better_.

He stared at her for a beat before he shifted his jaw, his fingers prodding at his cheek.

His eyes dropped down to where she cradled her hand.

“Is your hand okay?” he asked, his tone genial.

 _Genial_.

That was a pretty red-flag moment, but the high from the adrenaline spike and the sudden energy transference was still running rampant through her system.

“What, this old thing?” Felicity replied, waving her hand around, trying not to wince because _ow_. She shrugged, pretending like her bones didn’t feel like they’d been shattered, but her voice still came out a little too breathless as she continued, “Fine. It’s fine.” She smiled at him, and she was too far gone to appreciate how long it’d been since she’d really smiled. “At least I can say from experience that you really do have a hard head.”

Oliver lifted an eyebrow, and she thought she saw a little smile slip out - and was that pride shining back at her? - but then it was gone.

In fact, _he_ was gone.

Oliver attacked her.

Felicity let out a surprised squeak, her hands flying up to ward him off as she staggered back a step but he was already there, and his fist was aimed right at her face.

Before she could really process the fact that Oliver was _attacking_ her, Felicity’s body took over. 

She dodged back, eyes wide, some rational part of her knowing that he wasn’t _really_ attacking her, but her muscles responded all the same. Her arm came up to push his arm away just as he aimed his other first at her gut. Felicity barely managed to push that hand away as well, pushing off him at the same time, tripping backwards, but he advanced on her, never relenting, never giving her a second. 

When his leg moved to slam into her knee, Felicity jumped to evade it, her lungs burning with exertion and adrenaline, feeling the strangest lightness at the understanding that she was responding, that she was protecting herself and doing a damn good job of it - it was an invigorating feeling, like she was part of the air around her, like they were moving together - but he’d been expecting her to do that.

He’d _counted_ on her doing that and the second she landed again, Oliver was already waiting for her.

He rushed her.

Felicity’s eyes widened, her mouth opening in an alarmed, “Wait!” but he was already there. 

Oliver wrapped one arm around her waist while the hooked under her knee, yanking her feet out from under her and then they were falling.

Felicity let out a startled shriek, grabbing onto him as her stomach pitched, the world blurring before they slammed into the ground. Well, _Oliver_ slammed into the ground. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but not a single inch of her hit the mat as he landed on his knees and elbow, holding her up, but it didn’t last long, because one second she was curled in against him and the next he had her _pinned_ to the ground, his body bracketed around hers in what could easily be him about to _crush_ her, his face landing a mere inch from hers.

“Whoa,” Felicity gasped, staring up at him. 

She tried to take a deep breath, but he definitely had her pinned down, and she wasn’t moving from where he loomed over her. Her legs were tangled in his, her hands frozen in surprised claws between them, her mind racing to figure out exactly what the hell had just happened and how she’d gone from standing and protecting herself to on her back in five seconds flat.

How _Oliver_ had just gotten her on her back in five seconds flat.

 _Whoa_.

“You know,” she said, trying to catch her breath. She didn’t have to force the levity in her voice, and she knew by the way his eyes softened slightly that he heard it. “I think we should remember who has the superior island training between the two of us here, big guy.”

Oliver’s lips quirked just enough to qualify as a smile. “Brute strength.”

Felicity furrowed her brow. What exactly did _that_ mean? Yes, he had brute strength, but he hadn’t exactly been very brutish. She didn’t think the word ‘brute’ when she thought of Oliver Queen… well, last week she wouldn’t’ve, but this week maybe, but in that very second…

His tiny smile grew at the look on her face. “That’s what they’ll use against you, especially if you throw a punch like that.”

“Oh,” Felicity said, her eyes widening in realization. _They_ , they as in Russian mobster goons they.

“They’re big and they’re strong, and they’re used to women submitting to them without a fight,” Oliver continued, his voice lowering with a new grave tenor that had Felicity’s chest tightening.

_“They’re used to women submitting to them without a fight.”_

She didn’t really like the connotation behind his words.

“You will take them by surprise, Felicity, because they won’t be expecting it, but you can’t stick around,” Oliver said. “So if you have to throw a punch like that, run.”

“Run,” Felicity repeated, nodding. “Right.” 

_“Don’t focus on brute strength because you don’t have it.”_

He was right, of course, because she could would’ve easily gotten away after punching Oliver, even if it’d just given her a few second head start. The way he’d stumbled back and the surprise on his face when he’d looked back at her told her it’d been the last thing he’d been expecting, and she could have easily used that to her advantage.

_Run._

“Although…” Felicity started, licking her lips as she shrugged. 

His eyes darted down for a quick second, so quick she nearly didn’t catch it, but she did. Her mouth went dry, her body suddenly flaring to life in awareness, the shock of him taking her off her feet slowly fading away, leaving room for other things.

Other things… like the fact that Oliver was on top of her, his body pressed against hers again, his muscles taut, keeping the majority of his weight off her but still… _there_. 

Against her.

What the _hell_ was she thinking?

“Although what?” Oliver asked, pulling her back to the moment.

“Although,” she repeated, scrambling for what she’d been about to say. Something about… “If I’m wearing the one pair of stilettos that look amazing with every evening gown ever, I might fall and break my face.”

“So take them off,” Oliver replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And let my dress drag on the floor?” 

That caught him off guard, and he huffed out what might have been a chuckle.

Before she could comment about it though, Oliver was moving, rolling off her and into a sitting position next to her on the mat, his hand appearing over her to help her sit up. Felicity gripped it and he pulled her up with barely any effort, only serving as a reminder that all of _that_ had just been on top of her.

Oliver Queen had just been on top of her - he’d been _on top of her_ , with his naked chest pushed up against her, sweaty and _huge_ and his face had been _right there_ , still so ridiculously handsome it made her bones ache - and she hadn’t made a single comment about it.

Was this what people called growth?

Felicity crossed her legs, wincing when she put weight on her hand. She looked down at it, stretching her fingers out. The skin over her knuckles was still bright red and growing more tender by the second, but it felt _good_ at the same time. Because she’d done that, she’d punched Oliver, she’d taken him by surprise, she’d protected herself. She made a fist again, barely feeling it, before she took a steadying breath, looking back at him.

He was staring at her hand as well, his face unreadable.

The thought of anything happening to him made her stomach churn.

“You can’t ask me to not do this, Oliver, not if it means you’ll be in more danger than I am right now.”

“You don’t know that,” Oliver replied, meeting her gaze. “We don’t know anything about who wants you, or why, or for what.”

“But we do know that if you don’t go, that means you’ll be on their hit list too,” Felicity argued, her voice plaintive. “And you know what, there’s only room for one of us, and I’ve already kind of called dibs.”

Oliver’s eyes slipped shut. “Felicity…”

She ignored him, ignored what he was saying, the desperation in his voice, because it wasn’t just about her, not anymore.

“You didn’t say anything,” Felicity said softly.

He paused, not moving for a moment, staring at the mat before him while she stared at him. He sat cross-legged, his fingers interlaced in front of him, his hands gripped together tightly. She could see the muscles in his forearms where they were pulled taut, his shoulders straight, his jaw clenching rhythmically.

And then he sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“I hadn’t even thought about it,” he finally said.

The words shot through her like a shard of ice, and she made tight fists to keep herself from reaching out to him.

“From the second I saw those pictures of you, Felicity, the pictures of you in your _home_ ,” he said, shaking his head before looking at her, and the steel staring back at her made her shiver. “I know what these people are capable of, what they will do to get what they want, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t let them have you, Felicity, I couldn’t.”

They stared at each other, and Felicity knew he meant every single word. He honestly would do anything to protect her, to keep her safe, even risk his own life, even risk pissing off the Russian mob.

He just didn’t _care_ , he didn’t care what the price would mean for him, and that was something she wasn’t okay with. She refused to be okay with it.

She wanted to berate him, to tell him he was wrong, that he was an idiot, that he was a _blind_ idiot because he refused to see anything past what he himself put in front of him, only seeing what he wanted… but she didn’t. Because he’d only agree. 

“You are, without a doubt, the most frustrating man I’ve ever met,” she said instead, reaching over. He snorted quietly, but he didn’t respond as Felicity settled her hand over his clasped ones. She squeezed gently and he looked up at her. The steel was still there, but now there was something else, a softness. “You can’t do this alone, Oliver. You take care of everyone around you, but you don’t let anyone do that for you.”

He furrowed his brow, a flash of pain lighting his eyes before it disappeared again - and that boggled her mind, because what was he thinking that pained him?

“All in or all out, remember?” she said. “And that includes _this_.”

“Felicity,” Oliver breathed, closing his eyes, bowing his head. “If something happens to you…”

“And if something happens to you because we don’t go?” Felicity asked.

The look he shot her was full of exhaustion, and after a second he looked away again, back down to her hand.

“That was a good punch,” he said after a moment, blatantly changing the subject. His voice was quiet, resigned, both knowing this conversation was not done. She let it go for a second, looking down at her hand as well. 

“Thank you,” she responded, unable to stop the smile curving her lips, a smile full of satisfaction.

Oliver heard it in her voice and his lips quirked slightly as he moved to cradle her hand in his, running his fingers over her damaged knuckles.

“I feel better,” Felicity added, watching him touch her. “I think punching you was enough therapy to last me an entire year.”

A beautiful involuntary smile lit up his face, nearly taking her breath away as he chuckled at her hand, shaking his head, running the gentle pad of his index finger over her knuckles.

“I’m glad I could be of service,” he said. “You definitely didn’t go easy on me.”

“Yeah, well, you kind of deserved it.” 

He snorted again and Felicity angled her head, studying his left cheek. She couldn’t see _anything_ , mostly thanks to the stubble decorating his jawline, but also because most of the impact had just been because she’d surprised him. And that was disappointing because her hand _hurt_ … although it was feeling a little better at the moment. For reasons she didn’t want to think about. 

“Hopefully it’ll bruise,” she added.

Oliver’s finger stopped stroking her hand and he looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Hopefully?”

“If my hand’s gonna be hurting, so will your face.”

He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked back at her hand.

Neither of them spoke for a heavy moment. The silence wasn’t unbearable or stifling, not like the others that had been existing between them. Felicity wasn’t sure if it was the punch that had broken the camel’s back, or if the pressure of the entire situation had become too much and forced the tension between them to collapse in on itself, or if the fact that he was just finally letting her in was making a difference, but she didn’t care. 

As long as it lasted.

Felicity bit the inside of her lip, her eyes drifting down to the star tattoo on his pectoral, to his scars.

He was quiet, but it was a peaceful quiet, oddly settling.

And then he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he looked up at her, looking her square in the eye.

“Okay,” he said, the word cracking a little.

Felicity started, her heart skipping a beat. “What?”

“I said okay,” Oliver repeated, and her eyes widened but he suddenly wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing it just hard enough that she was aware of it - not enough to hurt her, but definitely enough for her to stop whatever nonsense had been about to spew out. “But we’re doing it my way, Felicity. You stay with me the _entire_ time, no matter what. I don’t care where you go, even if it’s to the bathroom, even if something comes up, I don’t care. I’m not letting you out of my sight. Ever.”

Felicity nodded, and it probably was as emphatic as it felt because Oliver narrowed his eyes.

“Felicity…” 

He suddenly turned to her, the hand holding hers sliding up her arm to her elbow, gripping it tightly as his other found the side of her neck, cradling her as he dipped down to look her dead in the eye.

“You do not leave my sight,” he repeated slowly, his voice low, daring her to disagree… it was Arrow low, reminding her of the first few weeks when she’d been on the comms with him, when she’d agreed to help his cause, before he’d gotten the voice modulator.

He’d never used that voice on her before.

“No matter what, Felicity. Okay?”

Felicity blinked, a herd of butterflies ramming into the walls of her stomach, scattering her thoughts to the winds.

“Felicity,” he said, his fingers tightening with emphasis, making her heart trip all over itself again.

_Fe-li-ci-ty._

She took a quick breath, nodding.

He raised an eyebrow, obviously needing to hear it… although how in the world he expected her to do anything when he ran his thumb along the edge of her jaw was beyond her.

“I heard you,” Felicity said, nodding again. “Your way… I mean, of course it’s your way, you know more about this than me, or John, or anyone for that matter, because it’s not like we have a bunch of Bratva Captains just hanging out in the wings. And it’s probably most definitely a lot better than my way, which would’ve just been me wandering around asking, ‘Hey, you heard anything about human trafficking ‘round these parts?’ because that probably wouldn’t… end very… well.”

_Shut._

_Up._

Oliver clenched his jaw, looking like he regretted ever opening his mouth.

But he didn’t let her go.

Felicity silently counted backwards to quiet the insane babble that was attacking her thoughts before nodding again.

“Okay,” she said. “No matter what.”

Oliver took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, his eyes searching hers before he gave her another soft, “Okay,” like he needed to hear it again. He dragged his hand down her arm until he reached hers and he clasped it tightly, his grip on her neck tightening slightly. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it (this is my favorite chapter to date)!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you thought!
> 
>  **Update on Status** : The amazing feedback and support for this fic absolutely blows me away! Thank you so much for it, every comment and kudos means the world to me.
> 
>  **I am currently in the midst of "refurbishing" and finishing up this fic!** ( _Finally_ , amiright?) I don't have a timetable for when it will be finished and ready to be published, but it's definitely going to be sooner rather than later. Thank you for the continued support, it makes my day every single day!
> 
> (On another note, I am toying with the idea of leaving this fic up as the "original" Blood Hands and re-posting the refurbished version under a new fic. Because based on what I did in Chapter 1 already, the changes are significant. Any thoughts are welcome! Thank you!)

**Author's Note:**

> This isn’t a quick and easy ride for our OTP, and really, what fun would it be if it were? 
> 
> Reviews literally feed my muse and soul. Please let me know what you thought!
> 
> ([You can check the status of my writing/updating Blood Hands here](http://dust2dust34.tumblr.com/tagged/blood-hands))


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